UC-NRLF 


B    3    SbS    bSD 


#FyNCili;Es  OF  Success 


IN 


Literature 


Edited  hy 
ERBB  M  SCOTT,  Pm.I>. 


Allyn.an©  Bacqn 


(DniPir  OF 

llilton  NeTOnark 


mci^-^.pu^fMm^ 


aJ^OUaE  HENRY  LEWES 


THE 


Principles  of  Success 


LITERATURE 


EDITED 

WITH  INTRODUCTION  AND   NOTES 

BY 

FEED   N.    SCOTT,    Ph.D. 

Assistant  Professor  of  Rhetoric  in  the  University  of  Michigan 


THIRD  EDITION 


Boston 

ALLYN    AND    BACON 

1894 


Copyright,  1891, 
By  FRED  N.   SCOTT. 


Typography  by  J.  S.  Ccshing  &  Co.,  Boston. 
Prksswork  by  Berwick  &  Smith,  Boston. 


PREFACE. 


The  editor's  purpose  in  reprinting  this  admirable  little  treatise 
on  literature  is,  primarily,  to  make  it  accessible  to  his  own  classes 
in  rhetoric  and  literary  criticism.  It  has  been  his  custom,  as  it 
doubtless  is  that  of  many  other  teachers  of  rhetoric,  to  supplement 
the  text-book  by  reference  to  various  sources  of  information  upon 
psychology,  logic,  language,  and  aesthetics.  Books  on  these  topics, 
written  by  persons  who  know  what  they  are  writing  about,  neither 
too  abstruse  nor  too  much  diluted  with  sentiment,  are  singularly 
few  in  number.  Professor  A.  S.  Cook  did  good  service,  therefore, 
to  teachers  and  students  alike,  when,  in  1885,  he  brought  these 
Fortnightly  Sivticles  again  to  general  attention  by  reprinting  them 
in  pamphlet  form.  Hardly  any  other  work  on  literature  with  which 
I  am  acquainted  is  so  thoroughly  sound  in  principle,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  suggestive  and  inspiring.  Lewes's  essay  has,  too, 
what  is  noticeably  lacking  in  many  better  known  writings,  a 
bracing,  healthful  tone.  The  customary  sentimentalizing  about 
the  glories  of  literature  is  reduced  to  a  minimum.  Literary  and 
critical  superstitions  of  various  kinds  are  ruthlessly  picked  in  pieces. 
It  is  just  the  work  to  go  into  the  hands  of  that  hope  and  despair 
of  the  teacher  of  rhetoric,  —  the  callow  young  man  with  a  sneaking 
ambition  for  literature,  much  sentiment,  and  a  decided  relish  for 
rhetorical  decoration. 

The  book  may  be  used  in  the  class-room  in  a  great  variety  of 
ways.  The  writer's  preference  is  for  what  may  be  called  a  rudi- 
mentary form  of  the  seminary  method.  The  members  of  the  class 
are  not  asked  to  recite  as  from  a  text-book,  but,  having  read  the 
treatise,  or  a  portion  of  it,  with  much  care,  are  encouraged  to  dis- 
cuss with  the  instructor  and  with  one  another,  as  many  of  the 
important  points  as  the  time  will  allow.  Advantage  may  be  taken 
of  the  interest  thus  aroused  to  suggest  other  lines  of  reading.  In 
this  way  the  student  will  be  led  to  undertake  original  research, 

3 


4  Preface. 

and  ultimately,  perhaps,  to  do  a  little  independent  thinking  for 
himself.  For  this  purpose,  the  references  given  in  the  foot-notes 
may  be  of  some  service. 

For  the  matter  to  be  found  in  the  Introduction  the  editor  is 
largely  indebted  to  the  writings  of  Mr.  Lewes  himself,  who  has 
put  into  his  essays  and  the  prefaces  to  his  works  not  a  little  revela- 
tion of  his  own  mental  development.  The  following  list  of  sources 
may  be  of  use  to  those  who  wish  to  supplement  the  biographical 
and  critical  sketch  by  further  reading :  Cooke's  '  George  Eliot,' 
chap.  ii. ;  Miss  Blind's  '  George  Eliot,'  chap.  vi. ;  TroUope's  article 
in  the  Fortnightly  Review  for  Jan.  1,  1879 ;  Harrison's  notice  in  the 
Academy  for  Dec.  7,  1878;  McCarthy's  *  George  Eliot  and  George 
Lewes'  in  The  Galaxy,  Vol.  VII.,  p.  801 ;  Popular  Science  Monthly, 
Vol.  IX.,  p.  743 ;  Professor  Robertson's  review  of  '  The  Physical 
Basis  of  Mind,' in  Mind,  Vol.  III.,  p.  24;  the  chapter  on  Lewes 
in  Ribot's  '  English  Psychology,'  pp.  255-314 ;  the  article,  *  Lewes,' 
in  Brockhaus\s  *  Conversations-Lexikon';  and  the  article  by  Mr. 
James  Sully  in  the  'Encyclopaedia  Britannica.'  I  have  to  thank 
Mr.  Sully  for  directing  me  to  an  article  by  him  in  the  New  Quar- 
terly Revieii),  N.  S.,  Vol.  II.,  p.  371,  though  the  article  itself,  not 
being  in  the  University  Library,  has  not  been  accessible.  I  am 
also  indebted  to  Professor  I.  N".  Demmon  for  much-needed  criti- 
cisms, and  for  numerous  suggestions,  which,  could  I  have  carried 
them  all  out,  would  have  made  the  edition  far  better  than  it  is. 

FRED   N.   SCOTT. 

Ann  Arbor,  May,  1891. 


PREFACE   TO   THE   SECOND   EDITION. 

Of  the  corrections  that  have  been  made  in  this  second  edition, 
but  one  seems  to  call  for  special  notice.  The  word  '  lilt,'  which 
occurs  on  page  148,  line  5,  and  which  in  the  first  edition,  through 
a  natural  mistake  on  the  part  of  the  proof-reader,  appeared  as 
'  tilt,'  has  been  restored  to  its  original  form.  Lewes's  use  of  the 
word  "to  lilt  stones  from  a  cart"  is  certainly  peculiar,  but  much 
less  so  than  w^ould  be  the  use  of  '  tilt '  in  the  same  connection. 

F.  N.  S. 
May,  1892. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Introduction 7 


CHAPTER   I. 

Causes  of  Success  and  Failure  in  Literature,  and  Division 
OF  THE  Subject. 

i.    Object  of  the  Treatise 19 

ii.    Success  a  Test  of  Merit 23 

iii.    Causes  of  Failure 30 

iv.    The  Three  Laws  of  Literature 33 


CHAPTER   II. 

The  Principle  of  Vision. 

i.    Vakie  of  Insight  and  Personal  Experience .......     37 

ii.    Psychology  of  Mental  Vision 42 

iii.    Vision  the  Criterion  of  Genius 48 

CHAPTER   III. 
Of  Vision  in  Art. 

i.    The  Imagination 57 

ii.    Distinct  Images  Necessary 69 

iii.    Burke  on  Indistinct  Imagery  74 

iv.    Imagination  and  Memory 79 

V.    Idealism  and  Realism 82 

5 


6  Contents, 

CHAPTER   IV. 
The  Principle  of  Sincerity. 

PACK 

i.   Literature  and  the  Public 86 

ii.    Tlie  Value  of  Sincerity 91 

iii.    Sincerity  as  related  to  Vision 99 

CHAPTER  V. 
The  Principle  of  Beauty. 

i.    The  Secret  of  Style 107 

ii.    Imitation  of  the  Classics Ill 

iii.    Style  in  Philosophical  and  Scientific  Literature 119 

iv.    Style  in  the  Sense  of  Treatment 122 

CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Laws  op  Style. 

i.    Method  of  Inquiry 126 

ii.    The  Law  of  Economy 128 

iii.    The  Law  of  Simplicity 133 

iv.   The  Law  of  Sequence 143 

V.    The  Law  of  Climax 154 

vi.    The  Law  of  Variety 157 


INTRODUCTION. 


»«Ko 


LIFE   AND    WORKS. 


George  Henry  Lewes/  grandson  of  Charles  Lee  Lewes, 
the  comedian,  was  born  in  London,  Aj)ril  18,  1817.  His 
schooling  was  given  him  first  in  London,  then  in  Jersey, 
then  in  Brittany,  where  he  was  half  Gallicized,  and  finally 
nnder  a  fine  teacher.  Dr.  Bnrney,  at  Greenwich.  Upon 
leaving  school,  he  tried  law  and  commerce,  but  gave  them 
up  because  they  were  not  to  his  liking.  A  natural  bent 
toward  science  drew  him  into  medicine.  He  mastered  the 
theory  of  anatomy  and  physiology,  but  because  he  could 
not  endure  the  strain  of  the  operating-room,  gave  up  this 
pursuit  also.  He  turned  his  attention  next  to  philosophical 
studies.  At  eighteen  he  had  projected  a  physiological  in- 
terpretation of  the  Scottish  school  of  philosophy.  At 
twenty  an  attempt  to  deliver  a  series  of  lectures  on  the 
same  subject  convinced  him  that  he  knew  too  little  philoso- 
phy to  offer  an  independent  judgment.  It  was  to  supply 
this  deficiency,  we  may  suppose,  that  the  years  1838-39 
were  spent  in  philosophical  study  in  Germany.  There  he 
came  under  influences  that  permanently  modified  the  ten- 
dencies of  his  thought.  What  these  influences  were,  we 
may  see  from  an  article  on  ^  Hegel's  Esthetics,'  written  by 
him  and  published  in  the  British  and  Foreign  Bevieiv  for 
January,  1842.  "If  any  man,  says  he  (p.  41),  "is  worth 
knowing  in  the  philosophical  department,  it  is  Hegel."     In 

1  Pronounced  Lu'iss. 


8  Introduction. 

another  place  he  quotes  Avith  approval  the  opinion  of  Gans, 
that  progress  in  philosophy  is  possible  only  in  the  conii)lete 
development  of  all  that  is  contained  in  the  Hegelian  system 
after  the  Hegelian  method.  While  in  this  state  of  admiring 
discipleship,  Lewes  became  acquainted  with  the  writings  of 
August  Comte  and  J.  S.  Mill,  and  soon  became  a  convert  to 
Positivism.  "  More  intrepid  absurdity  it  would  be  difficult 
to  find"  is  the  judgment  pronounced  on  Hegel's  'Logic' 
three  years  later  in  the  '  Biographical  History  of  Philoso- 
phy.' ^  The  ^History/  the  only  popular  history  of  philosophy 
ever  published,  closes  with  a  glorification  of  Comte.  The 
latter  is  lauded  as  the  discoverer  of  a  method  which  is  the 
only  valid  one  in  philosophy  because  it  is  the  only  one 
elaborated  from  the  sciences,  yet  possessing  the  generality 
of  metaphysical  doctrines.  This  position  Lewes  maintained 
for  many  years,  then  gradually  abandoned  as  he  became  less 
interested  in  bare  facts  and  more  interested  in  their  mean- 
ing. The  closing  years  of  his  life  saw  him  steadily  drifting 
away  from  Positivism  and  verging  more  and  more  toward 
the  beliefs  of  his  earlier  years. 

In  the  meantime,  he  did  a  prodigious  amount  of  writing 
in  the  most  varied  fields.  In  1846  he  published  a  little 
work  on  '  The  Spanish  Drama,'  full  of  original  criticisms  of 


1  Nevertheless,  per  fas  aut  nefas,  such  merit  as  the  '  History  '  possessed 
it  owed  to  Lewes's  stvidy  of  Hegel.  Its  chief  value  lay  in  that  it  exhibited 
to  English  readers  the  different  systems  of  philosophy  not  as  "  a  museum 
of  mental  aberrations,"  but  as  stages  of  thought  growing  naturally  one  out 
of  another,  and  that  idea  came  to  Lewes  straight  from  Hegel's  '  Geschichte 
der  Philosophie.'  Lewes's  unsympathetic  treatment  of  the  German  philos- 
opher is  to  be  attributed  partly,  no  doubt,  to  the  violence  of  a  convert  in 
the  first  fury  of  reaction,  but  more  to  the  intensely  dogmatic  nature  of  the 
historian.  He  had  avowedly  set  himself  the  task  of  proving  the  futility 
of  philosophical  speculation,  and  he  therefore  found  it  necessary  (though 
he  writes  the  chapter  with  manifest  irritation)  to  reduce  his  subject  matter 
to  those  "barren  forms  of  thought,"  with  which,  in  Hegel's  own  words, 
"  Philosophy  has  nothing  to  do."  A  more  appreciative  account  will  be 
found  in  *  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,'  1st  series.  Vol.  II.,  Appendix  B. 


Life  and  Works.  9 

Calderon  and  Lope  de  Vega  and  intended  to  correct  the 
exaggerated  judgments  pronounced  on  these  two  Spanish 
poets  by  Schlegel.  Two  novels,  ^Eanthorpe^  and  'Eose, 
Blanche,  and  Violet,'  appeared  in  1847  and  1848  respectively, 
and  were  feeble  successes.  A  '  Life  of  Eobespierre  '  came 
out  in  1849.  From  1849  to  1854,  Lewes  was  editor  of  the 
Leader,  a  weekly  literary  and  political  journal,  contributing 
to  its  columns  a  story  entitled  ^The  Apprenticeship  of  Life,' 
a  series  of  essays  on  Comte's  Philosophy,  afterwards  pub- 
lished separately,  and  reviews  and  dramatic  criticisms  with- 
out number.  '  The  Noble  Heart,'  a  drama  of  some  merit 
(written  in  1841),  was  published  in  1850,  and  was  followed, 
the  next  year,  by  '  The  Game  of  Speculation.'  In  1853  Lewes 
was  united  to  Marian  Evans,  better  remembered  as  George 
Eliot,  went  to  Weimar,  and  while  there  finished  his  best- 
known  work,  the  ^  Life  and  Works  of  Goethe.'  This  was 
published  in  1855.  It  has  been  described  as  "  an  opinion- 
ated book,  controversial,  egotistic,  and  unnecessarily  criti- 
cal." Doubtless  it  possesses  all  these  bad  qualities  ;  yet  if 
taken  up  when  one  is  young  and  ambitious,  and  just  begin- 
ning the  study  of  German,  perhaps  there  is  no  other  book 
in  existence  that  can  so  fire  the  student  with  an  enthusiasm 
for  letters. 

From  this  time  on,  Lewes  paid  less  attention  to  literature, 
and  more  to  the  study  of  biology,  physiology,  and  kindred 
subjects.  In  1858  he  read  a  paper  before  the  British  Asso- 
ciation for  the  Advancement  of  Science  on  '  The  Spinal  Cord 
as  a  Centre  of  Sensation  and  Volition.'  In  the  same  year 
two  works  of  a  less  severely  scientific  character  came  from 
his  pen,  — '  Seaside  Studies '  and  '  Physiology  of  Common 
Life.'  At  this  time  his  researches  were  directed  mainly  into 
the  phenomena  of  the  nervous  system,  upon  which  subject 
three  papers  were  published  in  1859.  He  conceived  the 
idea  that  he  might  approach  the  complex  nervous  structure 
of  man  by  a  preliminary  study  of  the  simpler  organizations 


10  Introduction. 

found  ill  animals.  One  result  of  these  researches  was  a 
series  of  articles  in  the  Cornhill  Magazine  for  1860  on 
'  Studies  in  Animal  Life/  reprinted  the  next  year  in  book 
form.  Becoming  convinced,  however,  that  his  method  was 
wrong,  he  turned  back  to  the  study  of  man.^  '  Aristotle : 
A  Chapter  from  the  History  of  Science,'  written  in  1862, 
but  not  published  until  1864,  was  the  outcome  of  a  search 
for  a  satisfactory  scientific  method.  From  this  time  until 
his  death  he  was  occupied  with  metaphysical  speculations 
and  with  what  is  now  commonly  known  as  physiological 
psychology,  the  physiological  mechanism  of  feeling  and 
thought.  The  results  of  these  researches  were  embodied 
in  a  series  of  volumes  which  he  called- ^Problems  of  Life 
and  Mind.'  The  first  two  appeared  in  1873-74  under  the 
name  '  The  Foundations  of  a  Creed.'  The  third,  on  '  The 
Physical  Basis  of  Mind,'  was  published  in  1877.  Lewes 
died  November  30, 1878.  His  posthumous  works  comprised 
the  third  series  of  ^Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,'  and  two 
volumes  on  psychology. 

The  writings  that  have  been  mentioned,  numerous  as 
they  seem,  are  far  from  exhausting  the  sum  of  Lewes's  lit- 
erary activity.  In  1867  he  wrote  the  letter-press  to  Kaul- 
bach's  '  Female  Characters  of  Goethe.'  In  1875  he  published 
one  of  his  most  readable  volumes,  'Actors  and  the  Art  of 
Acting,'  made  up  of  critical  notices  written  for  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  and  other  journals.  He  was  an  indefatigable 
contributor  to  all  the  prominent  reviews  of  his  time,  his 
choice  of  subjects  ranging  from  Plato  to  Charles  Dickens, 
from  Spinoza  to  President  Lincoln.  It  may  be  said  that  as 
Berzelius  was  the  last  general  chemist,  so  Lewes,  in  this 
age  of  literary  specialization,  was  perhaps  the  last  general 
litterateur.  jSTo  man,  it  is  likely,  will  ever  again  find  it 
possible  to  be  a  fairly  successful  journalist,  novelist,  critic, 

1 '  Problems  of  Life  aud  Mind.'    Introduction. 


Life  and  Works.  11 

biograplier,  and  essayist,  and  at  the  same  time  to  write  like 
a  specialist  upon  chemistry,  biology,  language,  sociology, 
physiology,  and  philosophy.  In  all  these  fields  Lewes  did 
brilliant,  if  not  always  sterling,  work.  To  some  he  made 
original  contributions  of  lasting  importance.  Altogether, 
he  Avas  one  of  the  most  astonishingly  versatile  men  that 
our  modern  civilization  has  produced. 

With  the  details  of  his  scientific  and  philosophical  re- 
searches we  are  not  here  especially  concerned.  It  may  be 
said,  in  brief,  that  his  most  important  contribution  to  physi- 
ological psychology  was  his  doctrine  of  the  functional 
indifference  of  the  nerves.  He  maintained  ('Problems  of 
Life  and  Mind,'  2d  series,  Prob.  11.)  that  all  nerve-tissue 
has  just  the  one  common  property,  sensibility.  The  differ- 
ence in  the  sensations  that  arise  when  eye  and  ear  are 
stimulated,  results,  therefore,  not  from  a  difference  in  the 
function  of  the  optic  and  auditory  nerves,  but  from  differ- 
ences in  the  structure  of  the  eye  and  ear  themselves.  To 
explain  organic  phenomena,  he  proposed  to  extend  to  tis- 
sues and  organs  the  principle  of  competition,  or  natural 
selection,  which  Darwin  applied  to  organisms.  ('Problems 
of  Life  and  Mind,'  2d  series,  Prob.  I.)  In  the  field  of 
psychology,  Lewes  claimed  to  be  the  first  (he  was,  perhaps, 
the  first  Englishman)  to  insist  that  the  mind  be  studied 
not  only  as  an  individual,  but  as  a  unit  in  the  social  organ- 
ism. ('Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,'  1st  series.  Introduc- 
tion, Pt.  11.)  His  metaphysical  speculations  include 
inquiries  into  the  limitations  of  knowledge,  the  meaning  of 
force  and  cause,  the  principles  of  certitude,  and  the  nature 
of  the  absolute.  His  discussion  of  the  relation  of  cause 
and  effect,  which  Mr.  Sully  regards  as  perhaps  his  most 
noteworthy  contribution,  is  based  upon  a  passage  from 
Hegel's  '  Logic ' :  "  The  effect  is  necessary  just  because  it  is 
the  manifestation  of  the  cause,  or  is  this  necessity  which 
the  cause  is."     ('Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,'  1st  series, 


12  Introduction, 

Prob.  v.,  Chapter  III.)  Lewes  began  his  labors  as  a  physio- 
logical interpreter  of  metaphysics  ;  he  closed  them  as  a  meta- 
physical interpreter  of  physiological  phenomena.  Probably 
we  shall  not  go  far  wrong  if  we  see,  in  the  growing  interest 
with  which,  in  his  later  years,  he  turned  to  the  speculative 
aspect  of  the  problems  he  was  discussing,  the  gradual 
emergence  of  those  ideas  and  modes  of  thought  which  his 
early  studies  in  German  philosophy  had  made  part  and 
parcel  of  his  mental  organization. 

'THE  PRINCIPLES   OF  SUCCESS.' 

The  circumstances  that  led  to  the  composition  of  the 
treatise  in  which  we  are  especially  interested,  have  been 
purposely  left  for  separate  consideration.  "Early  in  the 
year  1865,"  says  Anthony  Trollope  {Fortnightly  Review  for 
January,  1879),  "  a  few  men,  better  perhaps  acquainted  with 
literature  than  trade,  conceived  the  idea,  —  an  idea  by  no 
means  new, — of  initiating  a  literary  ^  organ  ^  which  should 
not  only  be  good  in  its  literature,  but  strictly  impartial  and 
absolutely  honest."  The  literary  organ  thus  conceived  was 
the  Fortnightly  Review^  which  made  its  first  appearance 
May  15,  1865,  and  for  two  years  thereafter  bore  the  name 
of  George  Henry  Lewes  as  editor  upon  its  title-page.  In 
the  opening  number  of  the  new  periodical  the  editor  began 
a  series  of  papers  entitled  'The  Principles  of  Success  in 
Literature.'  The  first  number  was  probably  written  with- 
out much  forethought  as  to  the  exact  nature  or  extent  of 
the  treatise,  except  that  it  was  to  sound  the  literary  key- 
note of  the  magazine ;  but  before  the  second  instalment 
appeared  the  outline  was  seemingly  settled  upon,  for  the 
subsequent  papers  are  entitled  '  chaj^ters '  and  are  logically 
subdivided.  Chapter  II.  appeared  June  1,  Chapter  III. 
July  15,  Chapter  IV.  August  1,  Chapter  Y.  September  1, 
and  Chapter  VI.  iS"ovember  1.     The  purpose  of  the  series, 


Theory  of  Literature.  13 

as  stated  by  the  author,  is  practical.  It  is  to  open  the  eyes 
of  young  men  of  talent  and  show  them  how  their  powers 
are  perhaps  being  misdirected.  This  it  aims  to  do  by  ex- 
pounding the  laws  which  give  literary  power  its  efficiency, 
which  govern,  that  is  to  say,  the  relation  of  the  successful 
author  to  his  public.  But  in  doing  this  last,  it  is  necessary 
to  set  forth  the  principles  that  underlie  all  artistic  pro- 
duction. Thus  the  treatise,  while  losing  nothing  on  the 
practical  side,  becomes  unavoidably  a  contribution  to  the 
theory  of  sesthetics. 

THEORY  OF  LITERATURE. 

The  plan  of  treatment  is  simple  because  fundamental. 
Literature,  though  nowhere  explicitly  defined,  is  every- 
where assumed  to  be  the  record  of  all  that  is  worthiest  in 
human  thought,  the  expression  in  language  of  those  feel- 
ings and  speculations  which  men  hold  the  dearest  and  the 
truest.  "It  stores  up  the  accumulated  experience  of  the 
race,  connecting  past  and  present  into  a  conscious  unity." 
Its  aim  is  the  effective  expression  of  truth.  If  this  be  the 
character  of  literature,  it  is  obvious  that  the  investigator 
has  to  deal,  not  with  some  parasitical  growth  on  human 
intelligence,  but  with  intelligence  itself.  His  treatment  can- 
not, therefore,  be  exhaustive  unless  he  make  his  field  the 
whole  nature  of  man.  This  is  the  task  that  Lewes  set  him- 
self. By  viewing  literature  successively  from  three  points 
of  view,  the  intellectual,  the  ethical,  and  the  aesthetic,  he 
aimed  to  traverse  the  whole  circle  of  man's  nature.  He 
proposed  to  show  that  only  when  all  three  aspects  of  man's 
mental  activity  come  to  expression  simultaneously,  is  it 
possible  to  have  that  utterance  of  the  whole  concrete  truth 
which  constitutes  literature  in  the  true  sense.  If  the 
writer  sees  clearly  (has  Imagination,  or  Vision),  if  he  re- 
ports with  fidelity  what  he  sees  (is  sincere),  if  his  manner 


14  Introduction. 

of  expression  is  perfectly  adequate  to  the  matter  (is  beau- 
tiful)^ his  work  has  all  the  value  that  the  writer,  being  what 
he  is,  can  hope  to  give  it.  If  success  do  not  follow,  at 
any  rate  the  only  conditions  that  make  success  possible  will 
have  been  met.  It  is  obtainable  upon  no  other  terms.  If 
all  other  rewards  fail,  one,  at  least,  cannot  be  withheld  — 
the  consciousness  of  worthy  labor  faithfully  performed. 

Lewes  has  not  elaborated  these  three  principles  system- 
atically. His  aim,  as  generally  elsewhere,  is  to  stimulate 
thought  and  combat  error,  rather  than  to  present  a  well- 
rounded  theory.  He  is  less  concerned  with  proof  than  with 
enforcement.  The  opening  paragraph  gives  promise  of  a 
strictly  scientific  treatment,  but  this  formal  style  is  soon 
cast  aside  for  a  more  popular  method  of  presentation ;  and 
although  at  times,  as  in  discussing  the  nature  of  imagination, 
and  again  in  formulating  the  laws  of  style,  he  returns  to 
something  like  a  scientific  preciseness,  it  is  mainly  by  fer- 
tile suggestion,  by  apt  illustration,  by  the  impulsive  fiash- 
ing-in  of  brilliant  side-lights,  that  he  brings  home  to  the 
reader  the  meaning  of  the  three-fold  truth,  whose  aspects 
are  Vision,  Sincerity,  and  Beauty.  Of  the  six  chapters,  the 
one  on  Sincerity  comes  nearest  to  the  fulfilment  of  its 
purpose,  the  one  on  Beauty  farthest  from  such  fulfilment. 
Lewes  leaves  no  question  as  to  what  he  means  by  Vision 
and  Sincerity ;  he  gives  very  little  enlightenment  as  regards 
the  fundamental  character  of  Beauty  and  its  relation  to  the 
other  principles.  The  last  two  chapters,  so  far  as  their 
bearing  upon  sesthetic  theory  is  concerned,  have  an  air  of 
superfluity.  The  truth  is,  they  are  superfluous.  The  aes- 
thetic field  is  covered  in  the  foregoing  chapters.  The 
Vision  and  Sincerity  there  spoken  of  are  Artistic  Vision 
and  Sincerity,  aside  from  which  Beauty  has  no  existence. 
To  separate  Beauty  from  the  other  principles,  to  set  it  off 
as  a  mysterious  something  that  escapes  analysis,  is  simply 
to  create  an  abstraction.     This  Lewes  seems  to  recognize 


Influences.  15 

when  at  the  close  he  returns  to  the  safe  ground  of  Sincerity 
as  a  basis  for  the  Law  of  Variety.  If  in  Chapters  II.-IV. 
he  had  confined  his  attention  to  Vision  in  Science  and  Sin- 
cerity in  Conduct,  then  unquestionably  he  would  have  left 
room  for  a  chapter  on  Beauty  in  Art.  As  it  is,  in  spite  of 
the  author's  protestations,  the  reader  gets  the  false  impres- 
sion that  style  is  something  more  than  clear  vision  sincerely 
expressed,  that  it  must  be  something  more  simply  because 
two  extra  chapters  are  devoted  to  it.  These  remarks  apply 
to  the  theory  as  a  whole.  The  richness  and  suggestiveness 
of  the  particulars  in  Chapters  V.  and  VI.  are  not  questioned. 

INFLUENCES. 

For  the  germinal  idea  of  the  treatise,  Lewes,  in  the 
opinion  of  the  present  writer,  was  largely  indebted  to 
Hegel's  ^Aesthetik.'  In  the  article  in  the  British  and 
Foreign  Revieiv,  before  referred  to,^  he  calls  attention  to  the 
difference  between  the  Germans  and  the  English  in  their 
treatment  of  art.  The  former,  he  says,  "  consider  that  as 
Art  is  a  production,  a  creation  of  the  mind  of  man,  the  real 
way  to  set  about  its  examination  must  be  the  investigation 
of  those  laws  of  the  mind  from  whence  it  proceeds :  thus 
they  examine  the  germ  to  know  the  psychology  of  the 
flower  ;  and  thus  it  becomes  itself  a  branch  of  psychology. 
.  .  .  The  laws,  then,  of  aesthetics,  when  truly  analyzed  and 
posited,  are  immutable ;  for  they  are  not  those  of  taste  and 
fashion,  but  the  eternal  principles  of  the  human  mind." 
He  adds  that  Hegel's  ^  Aesthetik '  is  "  the  most  delightful, 
thought-inciting,  and  instructive  work  on  the  subject  we 
have  yet  met  with,   and  four   years'   constant   study   of   it 

1  The  article  is  an  unusually  suggestive  one.  Matthew  Arnold  seems  to 
have  borrowed  from  it  several  ideas  for  his  essays  on  '  The  Function  of 
Criticism'  and  'The  Influence  of  Academies.'  See  especially  pp.  38-39, 
with  which  compare  '  Essays  in  Criticism,'  pp.  4,  8-9,  48-50. 


16  Bit}' 0  duet  ion. 

has  only  served  the  more  to  impress  us  with  its  depth  and 
usefulness."  Among  other  passages  from  the  ^Aesthetik/ 
he  quotes  the  following,  in  his  own  translation :  — 

'^  Art  fulfils  its  highest  mission  when  it  has  thus  estab- ' 
lished  itself  with  religion  and  philosophy  in  the  one  circle 
common  to  all,  and  is  merely  a  method  of  revealing  the 
Godlike  to  man,  of  giving  utterance  to  the  deepest  interests, 
the  most  comprehensive  truths  pertaining  to  mankind.  In 
works  of  art  nations  have  deposited  the  most  holy,  the 
richest  and  intensest  of  their  ideas,  and  for  the  understand- 
ing of  the  philosophy  and  religion  of  a  nation,  art  is  mostly 
the  only  key  we  can  attain."     (^  Aesthetik,'  I.,  p.  11.) 

Elsewhere  ('Aesthetik,'  I.,  p.  72)  Hegel  states,  more  explic- 
itly, that  "  art  has  the  vocation  of  revealing  the  truth 
in  the  form  of  sensuous  artistic  shape."  This  is  the  view 
which  we  find  Lewes  adopting  when  he  comes  to  speak  of 
the  highest  of  the  arts,  the  art  of  literature.  To  this 
source  we  may  trace  his  fundamental  aesthetic  conceptions. 
For  the  particulars  with  which  he  developed  these  concep- 
tions he  drew  from  a  great  variety  of  sources.  The  article 
mentioned  gives  evidence  that  his  reading  on  the  theory  of 
art  had  covered  a  wide  range.  He  quotes  Horace,  Burke, 
Cousin,  Jouffroy,  Qiiatremere  de  Quincey,  George  Sand, 
Kant,  Schiller,  Goethe,  Richter,  Schlegel,  Ulrici,  Sidney, 
Carlyle,  Shelley,  Wordsworth,  Coleridge,  E.  H.  Home,  and 
J.  S.  ]\Iill,  and  shows  acquaintance  with  the  aesthetics  of 
Plato,  Aristotle,  Longinus,  Baumgarten,  Lessing,  Winckel- 
mann.  Herder,  Novalis,  Tieck,  Solger,  Euge,  Bode,  Miiller, 
and  Ste.-Beuve.  Euskin,  Emerson,  and  De  Quincey  were 
fresh  in  mind  when  the  ^  Principles  of  Success '  was  in 
process  of  composition.  It  is  perhaps  worth  noting  that 
the  characters  which  Euskin  sets  down  as  constituting 
greatness  of  style  ('Modern  Painters,'  III.,  Chapter  III.), 
are  Choice  of  Noble  Subject,  Love  of  Beauty,  Sincerity, 
and  Invention. 


The  Present  Edition,  17 


THE   PRESENT  EDITION. 


The  papers  as  printed  in  the  Fortnightly  are  marred  by 
an  unusual  number  of  typographical  errors  and  slips  of  the 
pen.  The  quotations  are  uniformly  inaccurate,  as  e.g., 
'creeping'  for  ^sweeping'  in  §  79,  'photographer'  for  'to- 
pographer' in  §  120,  'Prista'  for  'Orissa'  in  §  195.  Prof. 
A.  S.  Cook's  reprint  (San  Francisco,  1885)  was  a  faithful  re- 
production of  the  original.  In  the  present  edition  changes 
have  been  made  wherever  needed  to  bring  quoted  matter 
into  conformity  with  some  standard  text.  Otherwise,  save 
for  the  addition  of  the  section  headings  in  Chapters  I.-V., 
and  the  correction  of  some  very  obvious  inconsistencies,  the 
text  has  been  allowed  to  stand  unaltered. 


THE    PRINCIPLES    OF    SUCCESS 
IN    LITERATURE. 

CHAPTER   I. 

CAUSES  OF  SUCCESS  AND  FAILURE  IN  LITERATURE,  AND 
DIVISION   OF   THE   SUBJECT. 

i.   Object  of  the  Treatise. 

1.  In  the  development  of  the  great  series  of  animal  organ- 
isms, the  Nervous  System  assumes  more  and  more  of  an 
imperial  character.  The  rank  held  by  any  animal  is  deter- 
mined by  this  character,  and  not  at  all  by  its  bulk,  its 
strength,  or  even  its  utility.  In  like  manner,  in  the  devel- 
opment of  the  social  organism,  as  the  life  of  nations  becomes 
more  complex.  Thought  assumes  a  more  imperial  character ; 
and  Literature,  in  its  widest  sense,  becomes  a  delicate  index 
of  social  evolution.  Barbarous  societies  show  only  the 
germs  of  literary  life.  But  advancing  civilization,  bringing 
with  it  increased  conquest  over  material  agencies,  disengages 
the  mind  from  the  pressure  of  immediate  wants,  and  the 
loosened  energy  finds  in  leisure  both  the  demand  and  the 
means  of  a  new  activity  :  the  demand,  because  long  unoc- 
cupied hours  have  to  be  rescued  from  the  weariness  of 
inaction ;  the  means,  because  this  call  upon  the  energies 
nourishes  a  greater  ambition  and  furnishes  a  wider  arena. 

2.  Literature  is  at  once  the  cause  and  the  effect  of  social 
progress.    It  deepens  our  natural  sensibilities,  and  strength- 

19 


20  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature, 

ens  by  exercise  our  intellectual  capacities.  It  stores  up  the 
accumulated  experience  of  the  race,  connecting  Past  and 
Present  into  a  conscious  unity ;  and  with  this  store  it  feeds 
successive  generations,  to  be  fed  in  turn  by  them.  As  its 
importance  emerges  into  more  general  recognition,  it  neces- 
sarily draws  after  it  a  larger  crowd  of  servitors,  filling  noble 
minds  with  a  noble  ambition. 

3.  There  is  no  need  in  our  day  to  be  dithyrambic  on  the 
glory  of  Literature.  Books  have  become  our  dearest  com- 
panions, yielding  exquisite  delights  and  inspiring  lofty  aims. 
They  are  our  silent  instructors,  our  solace  in  sorrow,  our 
relief  in  weariness.  With  what  enjoyment  we  linger  over 
the  pages  of  some  well-loved  author !  With  what  grati- 
tude we  regard  every  honest  book !  Friendships,  profound 
and  generous,  are  formed  with  men  long  dead,  and  with  men 
whom  we  may  never  see.  The  lives  of  these  men  have  a 
quite  personal  interest  for  us.  Their  homes  become  as  con- 
secrated shrines.  Their  little  waj^s  and  familiar  phrases 
become  endeared  to  us,  like  the  little  ways  and  phrases  of 
our  wives  and  children. 

4.  It  is  natural  that  numbers  who  have  once  been  thrilled 
with  this  delight  should  in  turn  aspire  to  the  privilege  of 
exciting  it.  Success  in  Literature  has  thus  become  not  only 
the  ambition  of  the  highest  minds,  it  has  also  become  the 
ambition  of  minds  intensely  occupied  with  other  means  of 
influencing  their  fellows  —  with  statesmen,  warriors,  and 
rulers.  Prime  ministers  and  emperors  have  striven  for  dis- 
tinction as  poets,  scholars,  critics,  and  historians.  Unsatis- 
fied Avith  the  powers  and  privileges  of  rank,  wealth,  and 
their  conspicuous  position  in  the  eyes  of  men,  they  have 
longed  also  for  the  nobler  privilege  of  exercising  a  generous 
sway  over  the  minds  and  hearts  of  readers.  To  gain  this 
they  have  stolen  hours  from  the  pressure  of  affairs,  and  disre- 
garded the  allurements  of  luxurious  ease,  laboring  stead- 
fastly, hoping  eagerly.     Nor  have  they  mistaken  the  value 


Causes  of  Success  and  Failure.  21 

of  the  reward.     Success  in  Literature  is,  in  truth,  the  blue 
ribbon  of  nobility. 

5.  There  is  another  aspect  presented  by  Literature.  It 
has  become  a  profession :  to  many  a  serious  and  elevating 
profession;  to  many  more  a  mere  trade,  having  miserable 
trade-aims  and  trade-tricks.  As  in  every  other  profession, 
the  ranks  are  thronged  with  incompetent  aspirants,  without 
seriousness  of  aim,  without  the  faculties  demanded  by  their 
work.  They  are  led  to  waste  powers  which  in  other  direc- 
tions might  have  done  honest  service,  because  they  have 
failed  to  discriminate  between  aspiration  and  inspiration, 
between  the  desire  for  greatness  and  the  consciousness  of 
power.  Still  lower  in  the  ranks  are  those  who  follow  Lit- 
erature simply  because  they  see  no  other  opening  for  their 
incompetence ;  just  as  forlorn  widows  and  ignorant  old 
maids  thrown  suddenly  on  their  own  resources  open  a 
school  —  no  other  means  of  livelihood  seeming  to  be  within 
their  reach.  Lowest  of  all  are  those  whose  esurient  vanity, 
acting  on  a  frivolous  levity  of  mind,  urges  them  to  make 
Literature  a  plaything  for  display.  To  write  for  a  liveli- 
hood, even  on  a  complete  misapprehension  of  our  powers,  is 
at  least  a  respectable  impulse.  To  play  at  Literature  is  alto- 
gether inexcusable  :  the  motive  is  vanity,  the  object  noto- 
riety, the  end  contempt. 

6.  I  propose  to  treat  of  the  Principles  of  Success  in  Lit- 
erature, in  the  belief  that  if  a  clear  recognition  of  the  prin- 
ciples which  underlie  all  successful  writing  could  once  be 
gained,  it  would  be  no  inconsiderable  help  to  many  a  young 
and  thoughtful  mind.  Is  it  necessary  to  guard  against  a 
misconception  of  my  object,  and  to  explain  that  I  hope 
to  furnish  nothing  more  than  help  and  encouragement  ? 
There  is  help  to  be  gained  from  a  clear  understanding  of 
the  conditions  of  success ;  and  encouragement  to  be  gained 
from  a  reliance  on  the  ultimate  victory  of  true  principles. 
More  than  this  can  hardly  be  expected  from  me,  even  on 


22  The  Prindples  of  Success  in  Literature. 

the  supposition  that  I  have  ascertained  the  real  conditions. 
No  one,  it  is  to  be  presumed,  will  imagine  that  I  can  have 
any  pretension  of  giving  recipes  for  Literature,  or  of  fur- 
nishing power  and  talent  where  nature  has  withheld  them. 
I  must  assume  the  presence  of  the  talent,  and  then  assign 
the  conditions  under  which  that  talent  can  alone  achieve 
real  success.  Xo  man  is  made  a  discoverer  by  learning  the 
principles  of  scientific  IMethod  ;  but  only  by  those  principles 
can  discoveries  be  made  ;  and  if  he  has  consciously  mastered 
them,  he  will  find  them  directing  his  researches  and  saving 
him  from  an  immensity  of  fruitless  labour.  It  is  something 
in  the  nature  of  the  Method  of  Literature  that  I  propose  to 
expound.  Success  is  not  an  accident.  All  Literature  is 
founded  upon  psychological  laws,  and  involves  principles 
which  are  true  for  all  peoples  and  for  all  times.  These 
principles  we  are  to  consider  here.^ 

1  As  Lewes  offers  no  formal  definitiou  of  Literature,  a  few  of  the  most 
noteworthy  are  here  given  :  "By  Letters  or  Literature  is  meant  the  expres- 
sion of  thought  in  Language,  where  hy  '  thought '  I  mean  the  ideas,  feelings, 
views,  reasonings,  and  other  oijerations  of  the  human  mind."  (Newman, 
'  Idea  of  a  University,'  p.  291.)  —  "  We  may  be  content  to  set  out  with  a 
rough  definition  of  literature  as  consisting  of  works  which,  whether  in  verse 
or  prose,  are  the  handicraft  of  imagination  rather  than  retlection,  aim  at 
the  pleasure  of  the  greatest  possible  number  of  the  nation  rather  than 
instruction  and  practical  effects,  and  appeal  to  general  rather  than  special- 
ized knowledge."  (Posnett,  '  Comparative  Literature,'  p.  IS.)  —  "  The  rep- 
resentation ...  of  a  specific  personality  in  its  preference,  its  volition 
and  power.  Such  is  the  matter  of  imaginative  or  artistic  literature  —  this 
transcript,  not  of  mere  fact,  but  of  fact  in  its  infinite  variety,  as  modified 
by  human  preference  in  all  its  infinitely  varied  forms."  (Pater,  '  Apprecia- 
tions,' pp.  G-7.)  —  "  The  written  thoughts  and  feelings  of  intelligent  men  and 
women  arranged  in  a  way  that  shall  give  pleasure  to  the  reader."  (Brooke, 
'English  Literature,'  p.  5.)  —  "Literature  consists  of  all  the  books  .  .  . 
where  moral  truth  and  human  passion  are  touched  with  a  certain  largeness, 
sanity,  and  attraction  of  form."  (J.  Morley,  '  On  the  Study  of  Literature,' 
pp.  SIMO.)  —  "All  knowledge  that  reaches  us  through  books  is  literature." 
(Arnold,  'Discourses  in  America,'  p.  90.)  Cf.  Dowden's  'Transcripts  and 
Studies,'  pp.  237-2i0;  Laurie's  'Lectures  on  Language,'  pp.  81-104;  Nettle- 
ship's  '  The  moral  Influence  of  Literature  ' ;  J.  Morley 's  '  Voltaire,'  pp.  13-15 ; 
Taine's  '  History  of  English  Literature,'  Introduction;  De  Quincey's  essay 
on  '  Pope,'  and  '  Letters  to  a  Young  Man,'  III. 


Causes  of  Success  and  Failure.  23 


ii.   Success  a  Test  of  Merit. 

7.  The  rarity  of  good  books  in  every  department,  and  the 
enormous  quantity  of  imperfect,  insincere  books,  has  been 
the  lament  of  all  times.  The  complaint  being  as  old  as 
Literature  itself,  we  may  dismiss  without  notice  all  the 
accusations  which  throw  the  burden  on  systems  of  educa- 
tion, conditions  of  society,  cheap  books,  levity  and  super- 
ficiality of  readers,  and  analogous  causes.  None  of  these 
can  be  a  vera  causa;  though  each  may  have  had  its  special 
influence  in  determining  the  production  of  some  imperfect 
works.  The  main  cause  I  take  to  be  that  indicated  in 
Goethe's  aphorism  :  "  In  this  world  there  are  so  few  voices 
and  so  many  echoes."  Books  are  generally  more  deficient 
in  sincerity  than  in  cleverness.  Talent,  as  will  become 
apparent  in  the  course  of  our  inquiry,  holds  a  very  sub- 
ordinate position  in  Literature  to  that  usually  assigned  to 
it.  Indeed,  a  cursory  inspection  of  the  Literature  of  our 
day  will  detect  an  abundance  of  remarkable  talent  —  that 
is,  of  intellectual  agility,  apprehensiveness,  wit,  fancy,  and 
power  of  expression  —  which  is  nevertheless  impotent  to 
rescue  "clever  writing"  from  neglect  or  contempt.  It  is 
unreal  splendour ;  for  the  most  part  mere  intellectual  fire- 
works. In  Life,  as  in  Literature,  our  admiration  for  mere 
cleverness  has  a  touch  of  contempt  in  it,  and  is  very  unlike 
the  respect  paid  to  character.  And  justly  so.  No  talent 
can  be  supremely  effective  unless  it  act  in  close  alliance 
with  certain  moral  qualities.  (What  these  qualities  are 
will  be  specified  hereafter.^) 

8.  Another  cause,  intimately  allied  with  the  absence  of 
moral  guidance  just  alluded  to,  is  misdirection  of  talent. 
Valuable  energy  is  wasted  by  being  misdirected.     Men  are 

1  See,  iu  particular,  §  101. 


24  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

constantly  attempting,  without  special  aptitude,  work  for 
which  special  aptitude  is  indispensable. 

"  On  peut  etre  hounete  homme  et  faire  mal  des  vers."  i 

9.  A  man  may  be  variously  accomplished,  and  yet  be  a 
feeble  poet.  He  may  be  a  real  poet,  yet  a  feeble  dramatist. 
He  may  have  dramatic  faculty,  yet  be  a  feeble  novelist. 
He  may  be  a  good  story-teller,  yet  a  shallow  thinker  and  a 
slip-shod  writer.  For  success  in  any  special  kind  of  work 
it  is  obvious  that  a  special  talent  is  requisite  ;  but  obvious 
as  this  seems,  when  stated  as  a  general  proposition,  it  rarely 
serves  to  check  a  mistaken  presumption.  There  are  many 
writers  endowed  with  a  certain  susceptibility  to  the  graces 
and  refinements  of  Literature  which  has  been  fostered  by 
culture  till  they  have  mistaken  it  for  native  power;  and 
these  men,  being  really  destitute  of  native  power,  are  forced 
to  imitate  what  others  have  created.  They  can  understand 
how  a  man  may  have  musical  sensibility  and  yet  not  be  a 
good  singer ;  but  they  fail  to  understand,  at  least  in  their 
own  case,  how  a  man  may  have  literary  sensibility,  yet  not 
be  a  good  story-teller  or  an  effective  dramatist.  They 
imagine  that  if  they  are  cultivated  and  clever,  can  write 
what  is  delusively  called  a  "  brilliant  style,"  and  are  famil- 
iar with  the  masterpieces  of  Literature,  they  must  be  more 
competent  to  succeed  in  fiction  or  the  drama  than  a  duller 
man,  with  a  plainer  style  and  slenderer  acquaintance  with 
the  "  best  models."  Had  they  distinctly  conceived  the  real 
aims  of  Literature  this  mistake  would  often  have  been 
avoided.  A  recognition  of  the  aims  would  have  pressed  on 
their  attention  a  more  distinct  appreciation  of  the  require- 
ments. 

10.  No  one  ever  doubted  that  special  aptitudes  were  re- 
quired for  music,  mathematics,  drawing,  or  for  wit;  but 
other  aptitudes  not  less  special  are  seldom  recognised.     It 

1  Moliere,  '  Le  Misanthrope,'  Act  IV.,  Sc.  i. 


Causes  of  Success  and  Failure.  25 

is  with  authors  as  with  actors :  mere  delight  in  the  art 
deludes  them  into  the  belief  that  they  could  be  artists. 
There  are  born  actors,  as  there  are  born  authors.  To  an 
observant  eye  such  men  reveal  their  native  endowments. 
Even  in  conversation  they  spontaneously  throw  themselves 
into  the  characters  they  speak  of.  They  mimic,  often  quite 
unconsciously,  the  speech  and  gesture  of  the  person.  They 
dramatise  when  they  narrate.  Other  men  with  little  of  this 
faculty,  but  with  only  so  much  of  it  as  will  enable  them  to 
imitate  the  tones  and  gestures  of  some  admired  actor,  are 
misled  by  their  vanity  into  the  belief  that  they  also  are 
actors,  that  they  also  could  move  an  audience  as  their 
original  moves  it. 

11.  In  Literature  we  see  a  few  original  writers,  and  a 
crowd  of  imitators  :  men  of  special  aptitudes,  and  men  who 
mistake  their  power  of  repeating  with  slight  variation  what 
others  have  done,  for  a  power  of  creating  anew.  The  imi- 
tator sees  that  it  is  easy  to  do  that  which  has  already  been 
done.  He  intends  to  improve  on  it ;  to  add  from  his  own 
stores  something  which  the  originator  could  not  give ;  to 
lend  it  the  lustre  of  a  richer  mind ;  to  make  this  situation 
more  impressive,  and  that  character  more  natural.  He  is 
vividly  impressed  with  the  imperfections  of  the  original. 
And  it  is  a  perpetual  puzzle  to  him  why  the  public,  which 
applauds  his  imperfect  predecessor,  stupidly  fails  to  recog- 
nise his  own  obvious  improvements. 

12.  It  is  from  such  men  that  the  cry  goes  forth  about 
neglected  genius  and  public  caprice.  In  secret  they  despise 
many  a  distinguished  writer,  and  privately,  if  not  publicly, 
assert  themselves  as  immeasurably  superior.  The  success 
of  a  Dumas  is  to  them  a  puzzle  and  an  irritation.  They  do 
not  understand  that  a  man  becomes  distinguished  in  virtue 
of  some  special  talent  properly  directed;  and  that  their 
obscurity  is  due  either  to  the  absence  of  a  special  talent,  or 
to   its   misdirection.     They  may  probably  be   superior   to 


26  The  Principles  of  Success  iyi  Literature. 

Dumas  in  general  culture,  or  various  ability ;  it  is  in  par- 
ticular ability  that  they  are  his  inferiors.  They  may  be 
conscious  of  wider  knowledge,  a  more  exquisite  sensibility, 
and  a  finer  taste  more  finely  cultivated  ;  yet  they  have 
failed  to  produce  any  impression  on  the  public  in  a  direction 
where  the  despised  favourite  has  produced  a  strong  impres- 
sion. They  are  thus  thrown  upon  the  alternative  of  sup- 
posing that  he  has  had  "  the  luck  "  denied  to  them,  or  that 
the  public  taste  is  degraded  and  prefers  trash.  Both  opin- 
ions are  serious  mistakes.  Both  injure  the  mind  that 
harbours  them. 

13.  In  how  far  is  success  a  test  of  merit  ?  Rigorously 
considered,  it  is  an  absolute  test.^  ISTor  is  such  a  conclusion 
shaken  by  the  undeniable  fact  that  temporary  applause  is 
often  secured  by  works  which  have  no  lasting  value.  For 
we  must  always  ask,  What  is  the  nature  of  the  applause, 
and  from  what  circles  does  it  rise  ?  A  work  which  appears 
at  a  particular  juncture,  and  suits  the  fleeting  wants  of  the 
hour,  flattering  the  passions  of  the  hour,  may  make  a  loud 
noise,  and  bring  its  author  into  strong  relief.  This  is  not 
luck,  but  a  certain  fitness  between  the  author's  mind  and  the 
public  needs.  He  Avho  first  seizes  the  occasion,  may  be  for 
general  purposes  intrinsically  a  feebler  man  than  many  who 
stand  listless  or  hesitating  till  the  inoment  be  passed ;  but 
in  Literature,  as  in  Life,  a  sudden  promptitude  outrivals 
vacillating  power. 

14.  Generally  speaking,  however,  this  promptitude  has 
but  rare  occasions  for  achieving  success.  We  may  lay  it 
down  as  a  rule  that  no  work  ever  succeeded,  even  for  a  day, 
but  it  deserved  that  success ;  no  work  ever  failed  but  under 


1  In  a  certain  sense,  a  piece  of  Literature  may  have  value  even  though  no 
one  ever  reads  it,  but  this  quality  is  rather  an  empty  capacity  for  value  than 
value  itself.  Real  value  is  the  actual  total  effectiveness  of  the  work  upon 
the  public  consciousness  past  and  present.  Of  this,  success,  in  the  sense 
Indicated  by  Lewes,  can  be  the  only  test. 


Causes  of  Success  and  Failure.  27 

conditions  which  made  failure  inevitable.  This  will  seem 
hard  to  men  who  feel  that  in  their  case  neglect  arises  from 
prejudice  or  stupidity.  Yet  it  is  true  even  in  extreme  cases  ; 
true  even  when  the  work  once  neglected  has  since  been  ac- 
knowledged superior  to  the  works  which  for  a  time  eclipsed 
it.  Success,  temporary  or  enduring,  is  the  measure  of  the 
relation,  temporary  or  enduring,  which  exists  between  a 
work  and  the  public  mind.  The  millet  seed  may  be  intrin- 
sically less  valuable  than  a  pearl ;  but  the  hungry  cock 
wisely  neglected  the  pearl,  because  pearls  could  not,  and 
millet  seeds  could,  appease  his  hunger.  Who  shall  say  how 
much  of  the  subsequent  success  of  a  once  neglected  work  is 
due  to  the  preparation  of  the  public  mind  through  the 
works  which  for  a  time  eclipsed  it  ? 

15.  Let  us  look  candidly  at  this  matter.  It  interests  us 
all ;  for  we  have  all  more  or  less  to  contend  against  public 
misconception,  no  less  than  against  our  own  defects.  The 
object  of  Literature  is  to  instruct,  to  animate,  or  to  amuse. 
Any  book  which  does  one  of  these  things  succeeds ;  any 
book  which  does  none  of  these  things  fails.  Failure  is  the 
indication  of  an  inability  to  perform  what  was  attempted : 
the  aim  was  misdirected,  or  the  arm  was  too  weak :  in  either 
case  the  mark  has  not  been  hit. 

16.  ^^Tlie  public  taste  is  degraded."  Perhaps  so;  and 
perhaps  not.  But  in  granting  a  want  of  due  preparation  in 
the  public,  we  only  grant  that  the  author  has  missed  his 
aim.  A  reader  cannot  be  expected  to  be  interested  in  ideas 
which  are  not  presented  intelligibly  to  him,  nor  delighted 
by  art  which  does  not  touch  him  ;  and  for  the  writer  to 
imply  that  he  furnishes  arguments,  but  does  not  pretend  to 
furnish  brains  to  understand  the  arguments,  is  arrogance. 
What  Goethe  says^  about  the  most  legible  handwriting 
being  illegible  in  the  twilight,  is  doubtless  true  ;  and  should 

1  *  Spriiche  in  Prosa,'  Kiinst,  V.,  705. 


28  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

be  oftener  borne  in  mind  by  frivolous  objectors,  who  declare 
they  do  not  understand  this  or  do  not  admire  that,  as  if 
their  want  of  taste  and  understanding  were  rather  creditable 
than  otherwise,  and  were  decisive  proofs  of  an  author's 
insignificance.  But  this  reproof,  which  is  telling  against 
individuals,  has  no  justice  as  against  the  public.  For  — 
and  this  is  generally  lost  sight  of  —  the  public  is  composed 
of  the  class  or  classes  directly  addressed  by  any  work,  and 
not  of  the  heterogeneous  mass  of  readers.  Mathematicians 
do  not  write  for  the  circulating  library.  Science  is  not 
addressed  to  poets.  Philosophy  is  meant  for  students,  not 
for  idle  readers.  If  the  members  of  a  class  do  not  under- 
stand, —  if  those  directly  addressed  fail  to  listen,  or  listen- 
ing, fail  to  recognise  a  power  in  the  voice,  —  surely  the 
fault  lies  with  the  speaker,  who,  having  attempted  to  secure 
their  attention  and  enlighten  their  understandings,  has  failed 
in  the  attempt.  The  mathematician  who  is  without  value 
to  mathematicians,  the  thinker  who  is  obscure  or  meaning- 
less to  thinkers,  the  dramatist  who  fails  to  move  the  pit, 
may  be  wise,  may  be  eminent,  but  as  an  author  he  has  failed. 
He  attempted  to  make  his  wisdom  and  his  power  operate  on 
the  minds  of  others.  He  has  missed  his  mark.  Margaritas 
ante  porcos !  is  the  soothing  maxim  of  a  disappointed  self- 
love.  But  we,  who  look  on,  may  sometimes  doubt  whether 
they  icere  pearls  thus  ineffectually  thrown;  and  always 
doubt  the  judiciousness  of  strewing  pearls  before  swine. 

17.  The  prosperity  of  a  book  lies  in  the  minds  of  read- 
ers. Public  knowledge  and  public  taste  fluctuate;  and 
there  come  times  when  works  which  were  once  capable  of 
instructing  and  delighting  thousands  lose  their  power,  and 
works,  before  neglected,  emerge  into  renown.  A  small 
minority  to  whom  these  works  aj^pealed  has  gradually 
become  a  large  minority,  and  in  the  evolution  of  opinion 
will  perhaps  become  the  majority.  No  man  can  pretend  to 
say  that  the  work  neglected  to-day  will  not  be  a  household 


Causes  of  Success  and  Failure.  29 

word  to-morrow ;  or  that  the  pride  and  glory  of  our  age  will 
not  be  covered  with  cobwebs  on  the  bookshelves  of  our 
children.  Those  works  alone  can  have  enduring  success 
which  successfully  appeal  to  what  is  permanent  in  human 
nature  —  which,  while  suiting  the  taste  of  the  day,  contain 
truths  and  beauty  deeper  than  the  opinions  and  tastes  of 
the  day ;  but  even  temporary  success  implies  a  certain  tem- 
porary fitness.^  In  Homer,  Sophocles,  Dante,  Shakspeare, 
Cervantes,  we  are  made  aware  of  much  that  no  longer 
accords  with  the  wisdom  or  the  taste  of  our  day  —  tempo- 
rary and  immature  expressions  of  fluctuating  opinions  — 
but  we  are  also  aware  of  much  that  is  both  true  and  noble 
now,  and  will  be  so  for  ever. 

18.  It  is  only  posterity  that  can  decide  whether  the  suc- 
cess or  failure  shall  be  enduring ;  for  it  is  only  posterity  that 
can  reveal  whether  the  relation  now  existing  between  the 
work  and  the  public  mind  is  or  is  not  liable  to  fluctuation. 
Yet  no  man  really  writes  for  posterity ;  no  man  ought  to 

do  so. 

"  Wer  machte  denn  der  Mitwelt  Spass?  " 

("Who  is  to  amuse  the  present?")  asks  the  wise  Merry 
Andrew  in  Faust}  We  must  leave  posterity  to  choose  its 
own  idols.  There  is,  however,  this  chance  in  favour  of  any 
work  which  has  once  achieved  success,  that  what  has 
pleased  one  generation  may  please  another,  because  it  may 

1  It  not  infrequently  happens  that  new  ideas  for  which  the  public  is 
hungry,  it  knows  not  why,  are  embodied  in  inferior  works.  Readers  find 
in  such  writings  what  they  seek  in  vain  in  more  finished  productions.  The 
enthusiasm  with  which  Wordsworth  read  the  sonnets  of  so  undeniably 
second-rate  a  mind  as  that  of  Bowles,  finds  its  explanation  in  the  fact  that 
the  latter  poet,  despite  his  mediocrity,  had  embodied  in  his  commonplace 
lines  some  of  the  new  ideas  about  nature  with  which  Rousseau  had  stirred 
the  heart  of  Europe. 

2  Vorspiel  aiif  clem  Theater,  1.  77.  The  force  of  the  quotation  is  lost 
without  the  preceding  line :  — 

"  Gesetzt,  dass  ich  von  Nachwelt  reden  wollte, 
Wer  machte  denn  der  Mitwelt  Spass?  " 


30  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

be  based  upon  a  truth  or  beauty  which  cannot  die ;  and 
there  is  this  chance  against  any  work  which  has  once 
failed,  that  its  unfitness  may  be  owing  to  some  falsehood 
or  imperfection  which  cannot  live. 


iii.    Causes  of  Failure. 

19.  In  urging  all  writers  to  be  steadfast  in  reliance  on 
the  ultimate  victory  of  excellence,  we  should  no  less  stren- 
uously urge  upon  them  to  beware  of  the  intemperate  arro- 
gance which  attributes  failure  to  a  degraded  condition  of 
the  public  mind.  The  instinct  which  leads  the  world  to 
worship  success  is  not  dangerous.  The  book  which  succeeds 
accomplishes  its  aim.  The  book  which  fails  may  have 
many  excellencies,  but  they  must  have  been  misdirected. 
Let  us,  however,  understand  what  is  meant  by  failure. 
From  want  of  a  clear  recognition  of  this  meaning,  many  a 
serious  writer  has  been  made  bitter  b}^  the  reflection  that 
shallow,  feeble  works  have  found  large  audiences,  whereas 
his  own  work  has  not  paid  the  printing  expenses.  He  for- 
gets that  the  readers  who  found  instruction  and  amusement 
in  the  shallow  books  could  have  found  none  in  his  book, 
because  he  had  not  the  art  of  making  his  ideas  intelligible 
and  attractive  to  them,  or  had  not  duly  considered  what 
food  was  assimilable  by  their  minds.  It  is  idle  to  write  in 
hieroglyphics  for  the  mass  when  only  priests  can  read  the 
sacred  symbols. 

20.  No  one,  it  is  hoped,  will  suppose  that  by  what  is 
here  said  I  countenance  the  notion  which  is  held  by  some 
authors  —  a  notion  implying  either  arrogant  self-sufficiency 
or  mercenary  servility  —  that  to  succeed,  a  man  should 
write  down  to  the  public.  Quite  the  reverse.  To  succeed, 
a  man  should  write  up  to  his  ideal.  He  should  do  his  very 
best ;  certain  that  the  very  best  will  still  fall  short  of  what 
the  public  can  appreciate.     He  will  only  degrade  his  own 


Causes  of  Success  and  Failure.  31 

mind  by  putting  forth  works  avowedly  of  inferior  quality  ; 
and  will  find  himself  greatly  surpassed  by  writers  whose 
inferior  workmanship  has  nevertheless  the  indefinable 
aspect  of  being  the  best  they  can  produce.  The  man  of 
common  mind  is  more  directly  in  sympathy  with  the  vulgar 
public,  and  can  speak  to  it  more  intelligibly,  than  any  one 
who  is  condescending  to  it.  If  you  feel  yourself  to  be 
above  the  mass,  speak  so  as  to  raise  the  mass  to  the  height 
of  your  argument.  It  may  be  that  the  interval  is  too  great. 
It  may  be  that  the  nature  of  your  arguments  is  such  as  to 
demand  from  the  audience  an  intellectual  preparation,  and 
a  habit  of  concentrated  continuity  of  thought,  which  cannot 
be  expected  from  a  miscellaneous  assembly.  The  scholar- 
ship of  a  Scaliger  or  the  philosophy  of  a  Kant  will  obvi- 
ously require  an  audience  of  scholars  and  philosophers. 
And  in  cases  where  the  nature  of  the  work  limits  the  class 
of  readers,  no  man  should  complain  if  the  readers  he  does 
not  address  pass  him  by  to  follow  another.  He  will  not 
allure  these  by  writing  down  to  them ;  or  if  he  allure  them, 
he  will  lose  those  who  properly  constitute  his  real  audi- 
ence. 

21.  A  writer  misdirects  his  talent  if  he  lowers  his  stand- 
ard of  excellence.  Whatever  he  can  do  best  let  him  do 
that,  certain  of  reward  in  proportion  to  his  excellence. 
The  reward  is  not  always  measurable  by  the  number  of 
copies  sold ;  that  simply  measures  the  extent  of  his  public. 
It  may  prove  that  he  has  stirred  the  hearts  and  enlightened 
the  minds  of  many.  It  may  also  prove,  as  Johnson  says, 
"  that  his  nonsense  suits  their  nonsense."  The  real  reward 
of  Literature  is  in  the  sympathy  of  congenial  minds,  and  is 
precious  in  proportion  to  the  elevation  of  those  minds,  and 
the  gravity  with  which  such  sympathy  moves :  the  admira- 
tion of  a  mathematician  for  the  'Mecanique  Celeste,'  for 
example,  is  altogether  higher  in  kind  than  the  admiration 
of  a  novel  reader  for  the  last  '^  delightful  story."     And  what 


32  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

should  we  think  of  Laplace  if  he  were  made  bitter  by  the 
wider  popularity  of  Dumas  ?  Would  he  forfeit  the  admi- 
ration of  one  philosopher  for  that  of  a  thousand  novel 
readers  ? 

22.  To  ask  this  question  is  to  answer  it ;  yet  daily  ex- 
perience tells  us  that  not  only  in  lowering  his  standard,  but 
in  running  after  a  popularity  incompatible  with  the  nature 
of  his  talent,  does  many  a  writer  forfeit  his  chance  of  suc- 
cess. The  novel  and  the  drama,  by  reason  of  their  com- 
manding influence  over  a  large  audience,  often  seduce 
writers  to  forsake  the  path  on  which  they  could  labour  with 
some  success,  but  on  which  they  know  that  only  a  very 
small  audience  can  be  found ;  as  if  it  were  quantity  more 
than  quality,  noise  rather  than  appreciation,  which  their 
mistaken  desires  sought.  Unhappily  for  them,  they  lose 
the  substance,  and  only  snap  at  the  shadow.  The  audience 
may  be  large,  but  it  will  not  listen  to  them.  The  novel 
may  be  more  popular  and  more  lucrative,  when  successful, 
then  the  history  or  the  essay ;  but  to  make  it  popular  and 
lucrative  the  writer  needs  a  special  talent,  and  this,  as  was 
before  hinted,  seems  frequently  forgotten  by  those  who  take 
to  novel  writing.^  ^aj?  it  is  often  forgotten  by  the  critics ; 
they  being,  in  general,  men  without  the  special  talent  them- 
selves, set  no  great  value  on  it.  They  imagine  that  Inven- 
tion may  be  replaced  by  culture,  and  that  clever  "  writing  " 
will  do  duty  for  dramatic  power.  They  applaud  the  "  draw- 
ing "  of  a  character,  which  drawing  turns  out  on  inspection 
to  be  little  more  than  an  epigrammatic  enumeration  of 
particularities,  the  character  thus  "drawn"  losing  all  indi- 
viduality as  soon  as  speech  and  action  are  called  upon. 
Indeed,  there  are  two  mistakes  very  common  among  re- 
viewers :  one  is  the  overvaluation  of  what  is  usually  con- 
sidered as  literary  ability  ("brilliant  writing"  it  is  called; 

1  Lewes  is  here  drawing  upon  his  own  experience.    See  the  Introduction. 


Causes  of  Success  and  Failure.  33 

"  literary  tinsel "  would  be  more  descriptive)  to  the  preju- 
dice of  Invention  and  Individuality ;  the  other  is  the 
overvaluation  of  what  they  call  "solid  acquirements," 
which  really  mean  no  more  than  an  acquaintance  with  the 
classics.  As  a  fact,  literary  ability  and  solid  acquirements 
are  to  be  had  in  abundance;  invention,  humour,  and  orig- 
inality are  excessively  rare.  It  may  be  a  painful  reflection 
to  those  who,  having  had  a  great  deal  of  money  spent  on 
their  education,  and  having  given  a  great  deal  of  time  to 
their  solid  acquirements,  now  see  genius  and  original  power 
of  all  kinds  more  esteemed  than  their  learning ;  but  they 
should  reflect  that  what  is  learning  now  is  only  the  diffused 
form  of  what  was  once  invention.  "  Solid  acquirement "  is 
the  genius  of  wits  become  the  wisdom  of  reviewers. 

iv.    The  Three  Laws  of  Literature. 

23.  Authors  are  styled  an  irritable  race,  and  justly,  if 
the  epithet  be  understood  in  its  physiological  rather  than 
its  moral  sense.  This  irritability,  which  responds  to  the 
slightest  stimulus,  leads  to  much  of  the  misdirection  of 
talent  we  have  been  considering.  The  greatness  of  an 
author  consists  in  having  a  mind  extremely  irritable,  and 
at  the  same  time  steadfastly  imperial :  —  irritable  that  no 
stimulus  may  be  inoperative,  even  in  its  most  evanescent 
solicitations ;  imperial,  that  no  solicitation  may  divert  him 
from  his  deliberately  chosen  aims.  A  magisterial  subjec- 
tion of  all  dispersive  influences,  a  concentration  of  the  mind 
upon  the  thing  that  has  to  be  done,  and  a  proud  renuncia- 
tion of  all  means  of  effect  which  do  not  spontaneously  con- 
nect themselves  with  it  —  these  are  the  rare  qualities  which 
mark  out  the  man  of  genius.  In  men  of  lesser  calibre  the 
mind  is  more  constantly  open  to  determination  from  extrin- 
sic influences.  Their  movement  is  not  self-determined, 
self-sustained.     In  men  of  still  smaller  calibre  the  mind  is 


34  The  Principles  of  Success  m  Literature. 

entirely  determined  by  extrinsic  influences.  They  are 
prompted  to  write  poems  by  no  musical  instinct,  but 
simply  because  great  poems  have  enchanted  the  world. 
They  resolve  to  write  novels  upon  the  vulgarest  provoca- 
tions: they  see  novels  bringing  money  and  fame;  they 
think  there  is  no  difficulty  in  the  art.  The  novel  will 
afford  them  an  opportunity  of  bringing  in  a  variety  of  scat- 
tered details ;  scraps  of  knowledge  too  scanty  for  an  essay, 
and  scraps  of  experience  too  meagre  for  independent  pub- 
lication. Others,  again,  attempt  histories,  or  works  of 
popular  philosophy  and  science ;  not  because  they  have 
any  special  stores  of  knowledge,  or  because  any  striking 
novelty  of  conception  urges  them  to  use  up  old  material  in 
a  new  shape,  but  simply  because  they  have  just  been  read- 
ing with  interest  some  work  of  history  or  science,  and  are 
impatient  to  impart  to  others  the  knowledge  they  have  just 
acquired  for  themselves.  G-enerally  it  may  be  remarked 
that  the  pride  which  follows  the  sudden  emancipation  of 
the  mind  from  ignorance  of  any  subject,  is  accompanied  by 
a  feeling  that  all  the  world  must  be  in  the  state  of  dark- 
ness from  which  we  have  ourselves  emerged.  It  is  the 
knowledge  learned  yesterday  which  is  most  freely  imparted 
to-day. 

24.  We  need  not  insist  on  the  obvious  fact  of  there  being 
more  irritability  than  mastery,  more  imitation  than  crea- 
tion, more  echoes  than  voices  in  the  world  of  Literature. 
Good  writers  are  of  necessity  rare.  But  the  ranks  would 
be  less  crowded  with  incompetent  writers  if  men  of  real 
ability  were  not  so  often  misdirected  in  their  aims.  My 
object  is  to  define,  if  possible,  the  Principles  of  Success  — 
not  to  supply  recipes  for  absent  power,  but  to  expound  the 
laws  through  which  power  is  efficient,  and  to  explain  the 
causes  which  determine  success  in  exact  proportion  to 
the  native  power  on  the  one  hand,  and  to  the  state  of  pub- 
lic opinion  on  the  other. 


Causes  of  Success  and  Failure.  35 

25.  The  Laws  of  Literature  may  be  grouped  under  three  heads. 
Perhaps  we  might  say  they  are  three  forms  of  one  principle.^  They 
are  founded  on  our  threefold  nature  —  intellectual,  moral,  and 
aesthetic. 

The  intellectual  form  is  the  Principle  of  Vision. 
The  moral  form  is  the  Principle  of  Sincerity. 
The  aesthetic  form  is  the  Principle  of  Beauty.     ,. 

26.  It  will  be  my  endeavour  to  give  definite  significance, 
in  succeeding  chapters,  to  these  expressions,  which,  stand- 
ing unexplained  and  unillustrated,  probably  convey  very 
little  meaning.  We  shall  then  see  that  every  work,  no  mat- 
ter what  its  subject-matter,  necessarily  involves  these  three 
principles  in  varying  degrees ;  and  that  its  success  is  always 
strictly  in  accordance  Avith  its  conformity  to  the  guidance 
of  these  principles. 

27.  Unless  a  writer  has  what,  for  the  sake  of  brevity,  I 
have  called  Vision,  enabling  him  to  see  clearly  the  facts  or 
ideas,  the  objects  or  relations,  which  he  places  before  us  for 
our  own  instruction,  his  work  must  obviously  be  defective. 
He  must  see  clearly  if  we  are  to  see  clearly.  Unless  a 
writer  has  Sincerity,  urging  him  to  place  before  us  what  he 
sees  and  believes  as  he  sees  and  believes  it,  the  defective 
earnestness  of  his  presentation  will  cause  an  imperfect  sym- 
pathy in  us.  He  must  believe  what  he  says,  or  we  shall 
not  believe  it.  Insincerity  is  always  weakness;  sincerity 
even  in  error  is  strength.  This  is  not  so  obvious  a  principle 
as  the  first;  at  any  rate  it  is  one  more  profoundly  disre- 
garded by  writers. 

28.  Finally,  unless  the  writer  has  grace  —  the  principle 
of  Beauty  I  have  named  it  —  enabling  him  to  give  some 
aesthetic  charm  to  his  presentation,  were  it  only  the  charm 
of  well-arranged  material,  and  well-constructed  sentences,  a 
charm  sensible  through  all  the  intricacies  of  composition^ 

1  See  §  29.  ^  See  §§  145,  185. 


36  The  Princijjles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

and  of  style,  lie  will  not  do  justice  to  his  powers,  and  will 
either  fail  to  make  his  work  acceptable,  or  will  very  seri- 
ously limit  its  success.  The  amount  of  influence  issuing 
from  this  principle  of  Beauty  will,  of  course,  be  greatly 
determined  by  the  more  or  less  sesthetic  nature  of  the 
work. 

29.  Books  minister  to  our  knowledge,  to  our  guidance, 
and  to  our  delight,  by  their  truth,  their  uprightness,  and 
their  art.  Truth  is  the  aim  of  Literature.^  Sincerity  is 
moral  truth.  Beauty  is  aesthetic  truth.  How  rigorously 
these  three  principles  determine  the  success  of  all  works 
whatever,  and  how  rigorously  every  departure  from  them, 
no  matter  how  slight,  determines  proportional  failure,  with 
the  inexorable  sequence  of  a  physical  law,  it  will  be  my 
endeavour  to  prove  in  the  chapters  which  are  to  follow. 

1  "  Art  has  the  vocation  of  revealing  the  truth  in  the  form  of  sensuous 
artistic  shape."  — Hegel,  'Aesthetik,'  I.,  p.  72;  Bosauquet's  Trans.,  p.  105. 


CHAPTER   II. 

THE   PRINCIPLE    OF    VISION, 
i.    Value  of  Insight  and  Personal  Experience. 

30.  All  good  Literature  rests  primaril}"  on  insight.  All 
bad  Literature  rests  upon  imperfect  insight,  or  upon  imita- 
tion, which  may  be  defined  as  seeing  at  second-hand. 

31.  There  are  men  of  clear  insight  who  never  become 
authors  :  some,  because  no  sufficient  solicitation  from  inter- 
nal or  external  impulses  makes  them  bend  their  energies  to 
the  task  of  giving  literary  expression  to  their  thoughts  ; 
and  some,  because  they  lack  the  adequate  powers  of  literary 
expression.  But  no  man,  be  his  felicity  and  facility  of  ex- 
pression what  they  may,  ever  produces  good  Literature 
unless  he  sees  for  himself,  and  sees  clearly.  It  is  the  very 
claim  and  purpose  of  Literature  to  show  others  what  they 
failed  to  see.  Unless  a  man  sees  this  clearly  for  himself, 
how  can  he  show  it  to  others  ? 

32.  Literature  delivers  tidings  of  the  world  within  and 
the  world  without.  It  tells  of  the  facts  which  have  been 
witnessed,  reproduces  the  emotions  which  have  been  felt- 
It  places  before  the  reader  symbols  which  represent  the 
absent  facts,  or  the  relations  of  these  to  other  facts ;  and  by 
the  vivid  presentation  of  the  symbols  of  emotion  kindles  the 
emotive  sympathy  of  readers.  The  art  of  selecting  the  fitting 
symbols,  and  of  so  arranging  them  as  to  be  intelligible  and 
kindling,  distinguishes  the  great  writer  from  the  great 
thinker ;  it  is  an  art  which  also  relies  on  clear  insight. 

33.  The  value  of  the  tidings  brought  by  Literature  is 
determined  by  their  authenticity.     At  all  times  the  air  is 

37 


38  The  Prineijjles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

noisy  with  rumours,  but  the  real  business  of  life  is  transacted 
on  clear  insight  and  authentic  speech.  False  tidings  and 
idle  rumours  may  for  an  hour  clamorously  usurp  attention, 
because  they  are  believed  to  be  true ;  but  the  cheat  is  soon 
discovered,  and  the  rumour  dies.  In  like  manner  Literature 
which  is  unauthentic  may  succeed  as  long  as  it  is  believed 
to  be  true :  that  is,  so  long  as  our  intellects  have  not  discov- 
ered the  falseness  of  its  pretensions,  and  our  feelings  have 
not  disowned  sympathy  with  its  expressions.  These  may 
be  truisms,  but  they  are  constantly  disregarded.  Writers 
have  seldom  any  steadfast  conviction  that  it  is  of  primary 
necessity  for  them  to  deliver  tidings  about  what  they  them- 
selves have  seen  and  felt.  Perhaps  their  intimate  con- 
sciousness assures  them  that  what  they  have  seen  or  felt  is 
neither  new  nor  important.  It  may  not  be  new,  it  may  not 
be  intrinsically  important ;  nevertheless,  if  authentic,  it  has 
its  value,  and  a  far  greater  value  than  anything  reported  by 
them  at  second-hand.  We  cannot  demand  from  every  man 
that  he  have  unusual  depth  of  insight  or  exceptional  expe- 
rience ;  but  we  demand  of  him  that  he  give  us  of  his  best, 
and  his  best  cannot  be  another's.  The  facts  seen  through 
the  vision  of  another,  reported  on  the  witness  of  another, 
may  be  true,  but  the  reporter  cannot  vouch  for  them.  Let 
the  original  observer  speak  for  himself.  Otherwise  only 
rumours  are  set  afloat.  If  you  have  never  seen  an  acid  com- 
bine with  a  base,  you  cannot  instructively  speak  to  me  of 
salts ;  and  this,  of  course,  is  true  in  a  more  emphatic  degree 
with  reference  to  more  complex  matters. 

34.  Personal  experience  is  the  basis  of  all  real  Literature. 
The  writer  must  have  thought  the  thoughts,  seen  the  objects 
(with  bodily  or  mental  vision),  and  felt  the  feelings  ;  other- 
wise he  can  have  no  power  over  us.  Importance  does  not 
depend  on  rarity  so  much  as  on  authenticity.  The  massacre 
of  a  distant  tribe,  which  is  heard  through  the  report  of 
others,  falls  far  below  the  heart-shaking  effect  of  a  murder 


The  Principle  of  Vision.  39 

committed  in  our  presence.  Our  sympathy  with  the  un- 
known victim  may  originally  have  been  as  torpid  as  that 
with  the  unknown  tribe ;  but  it  has  been  kindled  by  the 
swift  and  vivid  suggestions  of  details  visible  to  us  as  specta- 
tors ;  whereas  a  severe  and  continuous  effort  of  imagination 
is  needed  to  call  up  the  kindling  suggestions  of  the  distant 
massacre. 

35.  So  little  do  writers  appreciate  the  importance  of 
direct  vision  and  experience,  that  they  are  in  general  silent 
about  what  they  themselves  have  seen  and  felt,  copious  in 
reporting  the  experience  of  others.  Nay,  they  are  urgently 
prompted  to  say  what  they  know  others  think,  and  what 
consequently  they  themselves  may  be  expected  to  think. 
They  are  as  if  dismayed  at  their  own  individuality,  and 
suppress  all  traces  of  it  in  order  to  catch  the  general  tone. 
Such  men  may,  indeed,  be  of  service  in  the  ordinary  com- 
merce of  Literature  as  distributors.  All  I  wish  to  point 
out  is  that  they  are  distributors,  not  producers.  The  com- 
merce may  be  served  by  second-hand  reporters,  no  less 
than  by  original  seers  ;  but  we  must  understand  this  service 
to  be  commercial,  and  not  literary.  The  common  stock  of 
knowledge  gains  from  it  no  addition.  The  man  who  detects 
a  new  fact,  a  new  property  in  a  familiar  substance,  adds  to 
the  science  of  the  age ;  but  the  man  who  expounds  the 
whole  system  of  the  universe  on  the  reports  of  others,  un- 
enlightened by  new  conceptions  of  his  own,  does  not  add  a 
grain  to  the  common  store.  Great  writers  may  all  be  known 
by  their  solicitude  about  authenticity.  A  common  incident, 
a  simple  phenomenon,  which  has  been  a  jDart  of  their  ex- 
perience, often  undergoes  what  may  be  called  "  a  trans- 
figuration "  in  their  souls,  and  issues  in  the  form  of  Art ; 
while  many  world-agitating  events  in  which  they  have  not 
been  actors,  or  majestic  phenomena  of  which  they  were 
never  spectators,  are  by  them  left  to  the  unhesitating  in- 
competence of  writers  who  imagine  that  fine  subjects  make 


40  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

fine  works.  Either  the  great  writer  leaves  such  materials 
untouched,  or  he  employs  them  as  the  vehicle  of  more 
cherished,  because  more  authenticated,  tidings,  —  he  paints 
the  ruin  of  an  empire  as  the  scenic  background  for  his 
picture  of  the  distress  of  two  simple  hearts.^  The  inferior 
writer,  because  he  lays  no  emphasis  on  authenticity,  cannot 
understand  this  avoidance  of  imposing  themes.  Condemned 
by  native  incapacity  to  be  a  reporter,  and  not  a  seer,  he 
hopes  to  shine  by  the  reflected  glory  of  his  subjects.  It  is 
natural  in  him  to  mistake  ambitious  art  for  high  art.  He 
does  not  feel  that  the  best  ^  is  the  highest. 

36.  I  do  not  assert  that  inferior  writers  abstain  from 
the  familiar  and  trivial.  On  the  contrary,  as  imitators, 
they  imitate  everything  which  great  writers  have  shown  to 
be  sources  of  interest.  But  their  bias  is  towards  great  sub- 
jects. They  make  no  new  ventures  in  the  direction  of 
personal  experience.  They  are  silent  on  all  that  they  have 
really  seen  for  themselves.  Unable  to  see  the  deep  signifi- 
cance of  what  is  common,  they  spontaneously  turn  towards 
the  uncommon. 

37.  There  is,  at  the  present  day,  a  fashion  in  Literature, 
and  in  Art  generally,  which  is  very  deplorable,  and  which 
may,  on  a  superficial  glance,  appear  at  variance  with  what 
has  just  been  said.  The  fashion  is  that  of  coat-and-waist- 
coat  realism,  a  creeping  timidity  of  invention,  moving 
almost  exclusively  amid  scenes  of  drawing-room  existence, 
with  all  the  reticences  and  pettinesses  of  drawing-room  con- 
ventions. Artists  have  become  photographers,  and  have 
turned  the  camera  upon  the  vulgarities  of  life,  instead  of 
representing  the  more  impassioned  movements  of  life.  The 
majority  of  books  and  pictures  are  addressed  to  our  lower 
faculties  ;  they  make  no  effort  as  they  have  no  power  to 
stir  our  deeper  emotions  by  the  contagion  of  great  ideas. 

1  As  iu  Thackeray's  '  Vanity  Fair.' 

2  That  is,  "  best  of  its  kind,"  or  "  the  best  that  the  artist  cau  do." 


The  Principle  of  Vision.  41 

Little  that  makes  life  noble  and  solemn  is  reflected  in  the 
Art  of  our  day;  to  amuse  a  languid  audience  seems  its 
highest  aim.  Seeing  this,  some  of  my  readers  may  ask 
whether  the  artists  have  not  been  faithful  to  the  law  I 
have  expounded,  and  chosen  to  paint  the  small  things  they 
have  seen,  rather  than  the  great  things  they  have  not  seen  ? 
The  answer  is  simple.  For  the  most  part  the  artists  have 
not  x^ainted  what  they  have  seen,  but  have  been  false  and 
conventional  in  their  pretended  realism.  And  whenever 
they  have  painted  truly,  they  have  painted  successfully. 
The  authenticity  of  their  work  has  given  it  all  the  value 
which  in  the  nature  of  things  such  work  could  have. 
Titian's  portrait  of  '  The  Young  Man  with  a  Glove '  is  a 
great  work  of  art,  though  not  of  great  art.  It  is  infinitely 
higher  than  a  portrait  of  Cromwell,  by  a  painter  unable  to 
see  into  the  great  soul  of  Cromwell,  and  to  make  us  see  it ; 
but  it  is  infinitely  lower  than  Titian's  'Tribute  Money,' 
'  Peter  the  Martyr,'  or  the  '  Assumption.'  Tennyson's 
'Northern  Farmer'  is  incomparably  greater  as  a  poem  than 
Mr.  Bailey's  ambitious  'Festus';  but  the  'Northern  Farmer' 
is  far  below  '  Ulysses '  or  '  Guinevere,'  because  moving  on  a 
lower  level,  and  recording  the  facts  of  a  lower  life. 

38.  Insight  is  the  first  condition  of  Art.  Yet  many  a 
man  who  has  never  been  beyond  his  village  will  be  silent 
about  that  which  he  knows  well,  and  will  fancy  himself 
called  upon  to  speak  of  the  tropics  or  the  Andes  —  on  the 
reports  of  others.  Never  having  seen  a  greater  man  than 
the  parson  and  the  squire  — and  not  having  seen  into  them 
—  he  selects  Cromwell  and  Plato,  Raphael  and  Napoleon, 
as  his  models,  in  the  vain  belief  that  these  impressive  per- 
sonalities will  make  his  work  impressive.  Of  course,  I  am 
speaking  figuratively.  By  "  never  having  been  beyond  his 
village,"  I  understand  a  mental  no  less  than  topographical 
limitation.  The  penetrating  sympathy  of  genius  will,  even 
from  a  village,  traverse  the  whole  world.     What  I  mean 


42  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

is,  that  unless  by  personal  experience,  no  matter  through, 
what  avenues,  a  man  has  gained  clear  insight  into  the  facts 
of  life,  he  cannot  successfully  place  them  before  us  ;  and 
whatever  insight  he  has  gained,  be  it  of  important  or  of 
unimportant  facts,  will  be  of  value  if  truly  reproduced. 
No  sunset  is  precisely  similar  to  another,  no  two  souls  are 
affected  by  it  in  a  precisely  similar  way.  Thus  may  the 
commonest  phenomenon  have  a  novelty.  To  the  eye  that 
can  read  aright  there  is  an  infinite  variety  even  in  the 
most  ordinary  human  being.  But  to  the  careless,  indis- 
criminating  eye  all  individuality  is  merged  in  a  misty 
generality.  Nature  and  men  yield  nothing  new  to  such  a 
mind.  Of  what  avail  is  it  for  a  man  to  walk  out  into  the 
tremulous  mists  of  morning,  to  watch  the  slow  sunset,  and 
wait  for  the  rising  stars,  if  he  can  tell  us  nothing  about 
these  but  what  others  have  already  told  us  —  if  he  feels 
nothing  but  what  others  have  already  felt  ?  Let  a  man 
look  for  himself  and  tell  truly  what  he  sees.  We  will 
listen  to  that.  We  must  listen  to  it,  for  its  very  authen- 
ticity has  a  subtle  power  of  compulsion.  What  others 
have  seen  and  felt  we  can  learn  better  from  their  own  lips. 

ii.    Psychology  of  Mental   Vision. 

39.  I  have  not  yet  explained  in  any  formal  manner  what 
the  nature  of  that  insight  is  which  constitutes  what  I  have 
named  the  Principle  of  Vision ;  although  doubtless  the 
reader  has  gathered  its  meaning  from  the  remarks  already 
made.  For  the  sake  of  future  applications  of  the  principle 
to  the  various  questions  of  philosophical  criticism  which 
must  arise  in  the  course  of  this  inquiry,  it  may  be  needful 
here  to  explain  (as  I  have  already  explained  elsewhere)^ 

1 '  History  of  Philosophy,'  Introduction.  Cf.  also  '  Problems  of  Life  and 
Mind,'  1st  Series,  Problem  I.,  Chap.  III.,  which  was  written  prior  to  the 
publication  of  the  present  treatise. 


The  Principle  of  Visio7i.  43 

how  the  chief  intellectual  operations  —  Perception,  Infer- 
ence, Reasoning,  and  Imagination  —  may  be  viewed  as  so 
many  forms  of  mental  vision. 

40.  Perception,  as  distinguished  from  Sensation,  is  the 
presentation  before  Consciousness  of  the  details  which  once 
were  present  in  conjunction  with  the  object  at  this  moment 
affecting  Sense.  These  details  are  inferred  to  be  still  in 
conjunction  with  the  object,  although  not  revealed  to  Sense. 
Thus  when  an  apple  is  perceived  by  me,  who  merely  see  it, 
all  that  Sense  reports  is  of  a  certain  coloured  surface :  the 
roundness,  the  firmness,  the  fragrance,  and  the  taste  of  the 
apple  are  not  present  to  Sense,  but  are  made  present  to 
Consciousness  by  the  act  of  Perception.  The  eye  sees  a 
certain  coloured  surface ;  the  mind  sees  at  the  same  instant 
many  other  co-existent  but  unapparent  facts  —  it  reinstates 
in  their  due  order  these  unapparent  facts.  Were  it  not  for 
this  mental  vision  supplying  the  deficiencies  of  ocular 
vision,  the  coloured  surface  would  be  an  enigma.  But  the 
suggestion  of  Sense  rapidly  recalls  the  experiences  previ- 
ously associated  with  the  object.  The  apparent  facts  dis- 
close the  facts  that  are  unapparent. 

41.  Inference  is  only  a  higher  form  of  the  same  process. 
We  look  from  the  window,  see  the  dripping  leaves  and  the 
wet  ground,  and  infer  that  rain  has  fallen.  It  is  on  infer- 
ences of  this  kind  that  all  knowledge  depends.  The  exten- 
sion of  the  known  to  the  unknown,  of  the  apparent  to  the 
unapparent,  gives  us  Science.  Except  in  the  grandeur  of 
its  sweep,  the  mind  pursues  the  same  course  in  the  interpre- 
tation of  geological  facts  as  in  the  interpretation  of  the 
ordinary  incidents  of  daily  experience.  To  read  the  pages 
of  the  great  Stone  Book,  and  to  perceive  from  the  wet 
streets  that  rain  has  recently  fallen,  are  forms  of  the  same 
intellectual  process.  In  the  one  case  the  inference  traverses 
immeasurable  spaces  of  time,  connecting  the  apparent  facts 
with  causes  (unapparent  facts)  similar  to  those  which  have 


44  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

been  associated  in  experience  with  sucli  results ;  in  the 
other  case  the  inference  connects  wet  streets  and  swollen 
gutters  with  causes  which  have  been  associated  in  experi- 
ence with  such  results.  Let  the  inference  span  with  its 
mighty  arch  a  myriad  of  years,  or  link  together  the  events 
of  a  few  minutes,  in  each  case  the  arch  rises  from  the 
ground  of  familiar  facts,  and  reaches  an  antecedent  which 
is  known  to  be  a  cause  capable  of  producing  them. 

42.  The  mental  vision  by  which  in  Perception  we  see  the 
unapparent  details  —  i.e.,  by  which  sensations  formerly  co- 
existing with  the  one  now  affecting  us  are  reinstated  under 
the  form  of  ideas  which  represent  the  objects  —  is  a  process 
implied  in  all  Ratiocination,  which  also  presents  an  ideal 
series,  such  as  would  be  a  series  of  sensations,  if  the  objects 
themselves  were  before  us.  A  chain  of  reasoning  is  a  chain 
of  inferences :  ideal  presentations  of  objects  and  relations 
not  apparent  to  Sense,  or  not  presentable  to  Sense.  Could 
we  realise  all  the  links  in  this  chain,  by  placing  the  objects 
in  their  actual  order  as  a  visible  series,  the  reasoning  would 
be  a  succession  of  perceptions.  Thus  the  path  of  a  planet 
is  seen  by  reason  to  be  an  ellipse.  It  would  be  perceived 
as  a  fact,  if  we  were  in  a  proper  position  and  endowed  with 
the  requisite  means  of  following  the  planet  in  its  course ; 
but  not  having  this  power,  we  are  reduced  to  infer  the  unap- 
parent points  in  its  course  from  the  points  which  are  appar- 
ent. We  see  them  mentally.  Correct  reasoning  is  the  ideal 
assemblage  of  objects  in  their  actual  order  of  co-existence 
and  succession.  It  is  seeing  with  the  mind's  eye.  False 
reasoning  is  owing  to  some  misplacement  of  the  order  of 
objects,  or  to  the  omission  of  some  links  in  the  chain,  or 
to  the  introduction  of  objects  not  properly  belonging  to  the 
series.  It  is  distorted  or  defective  vision.  The  terrified 
traveller  sees  a  highwayman  in  what  is  really  a  sign-post  in 
the  twilight ;  and  in  the  twilight  of  knowledge,  the  terrified 
philosopher  sees  a  pestilence  foreshadowed  by  an  eclipse. 


The  Principle  of  Vision.  45 

43.  Let  attention  also  be  called  to  one  great  source  of 
error,  which  is  also  a  great  source  of  power,  namely,  that 
much  of  our  thinking  is  carried  on  by  signs  instead  of 
images.  We  use  words  as  signs  of  objects  ;  these  suffice  to 
carry  on  the  train  of  inference,  when  very  few  images  of 
the  objects  are  called  up.  Let  any  one  attend  to  his 
thoughts  and  he  will  be  surprised  to  find  how  rare  and 
indistinct  in  general  are  the  images  of  objects  which  arise 
before  his  mind.  If  he  says,  "  I  shall  take  a  cab  and  get  to 
the  railway  by  the  shortest  cut,"  it  is  ten  to  one  that  he 
forms  no  image  of  cab  or  railway,  and  but  a  very  vague 
image  of  the  streets  through  which  the  shortest  cut  will 
lead.^  Imaginative  minds  see  images  where  ordinary  minds 
see  nothing  but  signs :  this  is  a  source  of  power ;  but  it  is 
also  a  source  of  weakness ;  for  in  the  practical  affairs  of 
life,  and  in  the  theoretical  investigations  of  philosophy,  a 
too  active  imagination  is  apt  to  distract  the  attention  and 
scatter  the  energies  of  the  mind.^ 

44.  In  complex  trains  of  thought  signs  are  indispensable. 
The  images,  when  called  up,  are  only  vanishing  suggestions : 
they  disappear  before  they  are  more  than  half  formed. 
And  yet  it  is  because  signs  are  thus  substituted  for  images 
(paper  transacting  the  business  of  money)  that  we  are  so 
easily  imposed  upon  by  verbal  fallacies  and  meaningless 
phrases.  A  scientific  man  of  some  eminence  was  once  taken 
in  by  a  wag,  who  gravely  asked  him  whether  he  had  read 
Bunsen's  paper  on  the  malleability  of  light.  He  confessed 
that  he  had  not  read  it :  "  Bunsen  sent  it  to  me,  but  I've 
not  had  time  to  look  into  it." 

45.  The  degree  in  which  each  mind  habitually  substitutes 


1  Probably  suggested  by  a  passage  in  Burke's  '  Essay  on  the  Sublime 
and  Beautiful,'  Part  V.,  Sect.  IV.  Cf.  Lewes's  '  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,' 
3d  Series,  Problem  IV.,  Chap.  V. ;  James's  '  Psychology,'  Vol.  I.,  pp.  253-271. 

2  According  to  Mr.  Galton,  "scientific  men,  as  a  class,  have  feeble  powers 
of  visual  representation."  —  '  Inquiries  into  Human  Faculty,'  p.  87. 


46  The  Principles  of  Success  iii  Literature. 

signs  for  images  will  be,  ceteris  paribus,  the  degree  in  which 
it  is  liable  to  error.  This  is  not  contradicted  by  the  fact 
that  mathematical,  astronomical,  and  physical  reasonings 
may,  when  complex,  be  carried  on  more  successfully  by  the 
employment  of  signs ;  because  in  these  cases  the  signs 
themselves  accurately  represent  the  abstractness  of  the 
relations.  Such  sciences  deal  only  with  relations,  and  not 
with  objects ;  hence  greater  simplification  ensures  greater 
accuracy.  But  no  sooner  do  we  quit  this  sphere  of  abstrac- 
tions, to  enter  that  of  concrete  things,  than  the  use  of 
symbols  becomes  a  source  of  weakness.  Vigorous  and 
effective  minds  habitually  deal  with  concrete  images.  This 
is  notably  the  case  with  poets  and  great  literates.  Their 
vision  is  keener  than  that  of  other  men.  However  rapid 
and  remote  their  flight  of  thought,  it  is  a  succession  of 
images,  not  of  abstractions.  The  details  which  give  signifi- 
cance, and  which  by  us  are  seen  vaguely  as  through  a  van- 
ishing mist,  are  by  them  seen  in  sharp  outlines.  The 
image  which  to  us  is  a  mere  suggestion,  is  to  them  almost 
as  vivid  as  the  object.  And  it  is  because  they  see  vividly 
that  they  can  paint  effectively.^ 

46.  Most  readers  will  recognise  this  to  be  true  of  poets, 
but  will  doubt  its  application  to  philosophers,  because 
imperfect  psychology  and  unscientific  criticism  have  dis- 
guised  the  identity  of   intellectual  processes  until  it   has 

1  In  the  light  of  recent  investigations  in  psychology,  this  statement, 
which  is  true  enough  in  the  main,  will  need  some  modification.  A  good 
artist,  it  has  been  found,  may  he  possessed  of  a  poor  visual  imagination. 
"  The  missing  faculty  seems  to  he  replaced  so  serviceably  by  other  modes 
of  conception,  chiefly,  I  believe,  connected  with  the  incipient  motor  sense, 
not  of  the  eyeballs  only,  but  of  the  muscles  generally,  that  men  who  de- 
clare themselves  entirely  deficient  in  the  power  of  seeing  mental  pictures 
can  nevertheless  give  lifelike  descriptions  of  what  they  have  seen,  and  can 
otherwise  express  themselves  as  if  they  were  gifted  with  a  vivid  visual 
imagination.  They  can  also  become  painters  of  the  rank  of  Royal  Acade- 
micians."—  Galton,  '  luquiries  into  Human  Faculty,'  p.  88.  Cf.  James's 
'  Psychology,'  Chap.  XVIII. 


The  Principle  of  Vision.  47 

become  a  paradox  to  say  that  imagiiiation  is  not  less  indis- 
pensable to  the  philosopher  than  to  the  poet.  The  paradox 
falls  directly  we  restate  the  proposition  thns :  both  poet 
and  philosopher  draw  their  power  from  the  energy  of  their 
mental  vision  —  an  energy  which  disengages  the  mind  from 
the  somnolence  of  habit  and  from  the  pressure  of  obtrusive 
sensations.  In  general  men  are  passive  under  Sense  and 
the  routine  of  habitual  inferences.  They  are  unable  to  free 
themselves  from  the  importunities  of  the  apparent  facts 
and  apparent  relations  which  solicit  their  attention ;  and 
when  they  make  room  for  unapparent  facts,  it  is  only  for 
those  which  are  familiar  to  their  minds.  Hence  they  can 
see  little  more  than  what  they  have  been  taught  to  see; 
they  can  only  think  what  they  have  been  taught  to  think. 
For  independent  vision,  and  original  conception,  we  must 
go  to  children  and  men  of  genius.  The  spontaneity  of  the 
one  is  the  power  of  the  other.  Ordinary  men  live  among 
marvels  and  feel  no  wonder,  grow  familiar  with  objects  and 
learn  nothing  new  about  them.  Then  comes  an  independent 
mind  which  sees;  and  it  surprises  us  to  find  how  servile  we 
have  been  to  habit  and  opinion,  how  blind  to  what  we  also 
might  have  seen,  had  we  used  our  eyes.  The  link,  so  long 
hidden,  has  now  been  made  visible  to  us.  We  hasten  to 
make  it  visible  to  others.  But  the  flash  of  light  which 
revealed  that  obscured  object  does  not  help  us  to  discover 
others.  Darkness  still  conceals  much  that  we  do  not  even 
suspect.  We  continue  our  routine.  We  always  think  our 
views  correct  and  complete ;  if  we  thought  otherwise  they 
would  cease  to  be  our  views ;  and  when  the  man  of  keener 
insight  discloses  our  error,  and  reveals  relations  hitherto 
unsuspected,  we  learn  to  see  with  his  eyes,  and  exclaim  : 
"  Now  surely  we  have  got  the  truth.'' 


48  The  Py^inciples  of  Success  in  Literature. 

iii.    Vision  the  Criterion  of  Genius. 

47.  A  cliild  is  playing  with  a  piece  of  paper  and  brings 
it  near  the  flame  of  a  candle  ;  another  child  looks  on.  Both 
are  completely  absorbed  by  the  objects,  both  are  ignorant 
or  oblivious  of  the  relation  between  the  combustible  object 
and  the  flame  :  a  relation  which  becomes  apparent  only 
when  the  paper  is  alight.  What  is  called  the  thoughtless- 
ness of  childhood  prevents  their  seeing  this  unapparent 
fact ;  it  is  a  fact  which  has  not  been  sufficiently  impressed 
upon  their  experience  so  as  to  form  an  indissoluble  element 
in  their  conception  of  the  two  in  juxtaposition.  Whereas 
in  the  mind  of  the  nurse  this  relation  is  so  vividly  im- 
pressed that  no  sooner  does  the  paper  approach  the  flame 
than  the  unapparent  fact  becomes  almost  as  visible  as  the 
objects,  and  a  warning  is  given.  She  sees  what  the  children 
do  not,  or  cannot  see.  It  has  become  part  of  her  organised 
experience. 

48.  The  superiority  of  one  mind  over  another  depends 
on  the  rapidity  with  which  experiences  are  thus  organised. 
The  superiority  may  be  general  or  special :  it  may  manifest 
itself  in  a  power  of  assimilating  very  various  experiences, 
so  as  to  have  manifold  relations  familiar  to  it,  or  in  a  power 
of  assimilating  very  special  relations,  so  as  to  constitute  a 
distinctive  aptitude  for  one  branch  of  art  or  science.  The 
experience  which  is  thus  organised  must  of  course  have 
been  originally  a  direct  object  of  consciousness,  either  as 
an  impressive  fact  or  impressive  inference.  Unless  the 
paper  had  been  seen  to  burn,  no  one  could  know  that  con- 
tact with  flame  would  consume  it.  By  a  vivid  remembrance 
the  experience  of  the  past  is  made  available  to  the  present, 
so  that  we  do  not  need  actually  to  burn  paper  once  more, 
—  we  see  the  relation  mentally.  In  like  manner,  Newton 
did  not  need  to  go  through  the  demonstrations  of  many 
complex  problems,  they  flashed  upon  him  as  he  read  the 


The  Prmelple   of  Vision.  49 

propositions  ;  they  were  seen  by  him  in  that  rapid  glance, 
as  they  woukl  have  been  made  visible  through  the  slower 
process  of  demonstration.  A  good  chemist  does  not  need 
to  test  many  a  proposition  by  bringing  actual  gases  or  acids 
into  operation,  and  seeing  the  result ;  he  foresees  the  result : 
his  mental  vision  of  the  objects  and  their  properties  is  so 
keen,  his  experience  is  so  organised,  that  the  result  which 
would  be  visible  in  an  experiment,  is  visible  to  him  in  an 
intuition.  A  fine  poet  has  no  need  of  the  actual  presence 
of  men  and  women  under  the  fluctuating  impatience  of 
emotion,  or  under  the  steadfast  hopelessness  of  grief ;  he 
needs  no  setting  sun  before  his  window,  under  it  no  sullen 
sea.  These  are  all  visible,  and  their  fluctuations  are  visible. 
He  sees  the  quivering  lip,  the  agitated  soul;  he  hears  the 
aching  cry,  and  the  dreary  wash  of  waves  upon  the  beach. 

49.  The  writer  who  pretends  to  instruct  us  should  first 
assure  himself  that  he  has  clearer  vision  of  the  things  he 
speaks  of,  —  knows  them  and  their  qualities,  if  not  better 
than  we,  at  least  with  some  distinctive  knowledge.  Other- 
wise he  should  announce  himself  as  a  mere  echo,  a  middle- 
man, a  distributor.  Our  need  is"  for  more  light.  This  can 
be  given  only  by  an  independent  seer  who 

"  Lends  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye."  i 

50.  All  great  authors  are  seers.  "  Perhaps  if  we  should 
meet  Shakspeare,"  says  Emerson,  ''^we  should  not  be  con- 
scious of  any  steep  inferiority ;  no :  but  of  great  equality ; 
—  only  that  he  possessed,  a  strange  skill  of  using,  of  classi- 
fying, his  facts,  which  we  lacked.  For,  notwithstanding 
our  utter  incapacity  to  produce  anything  like  ^  Hamlet '  or 
'  Othello,'  we  see  the  perfect  reception  this  wit  and  immense 
knowledge  of  life  and  liquid  eloquence  find  in  us  all.''^ 
This  aggrandisement  of  our  common  stature  rests  on  ques- 

1  '*  It  adds  a  precious  seeing  to  the  eye."  —  'Love's  Labor's  Lost,'  IV.,  iii. 

2  Essay  on  '  Intellect.' 


50  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

tionable  ground.  If  our  capacity  of  being  moved  by  Shak- 
speare  discloses  a  community,  our  incapacity  of  producing 
^Hamlet'  no  less  discloses  our  inferiority.  It  is  certain 
that  could  we  meet  Shakspeare  we  should  find  him  strik- 
ingly like  ourselves  —  with  the  same  faculties,  the  same 
sensibilities,  though  not  in  the  same  degree.  The  secret 
of  his  power  over  us  lies,  of  course,  in  our  having  the 
capacity  to  appreciate  him.  Yet  we  seeing  him  in  the 
unimpassioned  moods  of  daily  life,  it  is  more  than  probable 
that  we  should  see  nothing  in  him  but  what  was  ordinary ; 
nay,  in  some  qualities  he  would  seem  inferior.  Heroes 
require  a  perspective.  They  are  men  who  look  superhuman 
only  when  elevated  on  the  pedestals  of  their  achievements. 
In  ordinary  life  they  look  like  ordinary  men ;  not  that  they 
are  of  the  common  mould,  but  seem  so  because  their  un- 
common qualities  are  not  then  called  forth.  Superiority 
requires  an  occasion.  The  common  man  is  helpless  in  an 
emergency :  assailed  by  contradictory  suggestions,  or  con- 
fused by  his  incapacity,  he  cannot  see  his  way.  The  hour 
of  emergency  finds  a  hero  calm  and  strong,  and  strong 
because  calm  and  clear-sighted ;  he  sees  what  can  be  done, 
and  does  it.  This  is  often  a  thing  of  great  simplicity,  so 
that  we  marvel  others  did  not  see  it.  Now  it  has  been 
done,  and  proved  successful,  many  underrate  its  value, 
thinking  that  they  also  would  have  done  precisely  the  same 
thing.  The  world  is  more  just.  It  refuses  to  men  unas- 
sailed  by  the  difficulties  of  a  situation  the  glory  they  have 
not  earned.  The  world  knows  how  easy  most  things  appear 
when  they  have  once  been  done.  We  can  all  make  the  Qg^ 
stand  on  end  after  Columbus. 

51.  Shakspeare,  then,  would  probably  not  impress  us 
with  a  sense  of  our  inferiority  if  we  were  to  meet  him  to- 
morrow. Most  likely  we  should  be  bitterly  disappointed ; 
because,  having  formed  our  conception  of  him  as  the  man 
who  wrote   'Hamlet'  and  'Othello,'  we  forget  that  these 


The  Principle  of  Vision.  51 

were  not  the  products  of  his  ordinary  moods,  but  the  mani- 
festations of  his  power  at  white  heat.  In  ordinary  moods  he 
must  be  very  much  as  ordinary  men,  and  it  is  in  these  we 
meet  him.  How  notorious  is  the  astonishment  of  friends  and 
associates  when  any  man's  achievements  suddenly  emerge 
into  renown.  "  They  could  never  have  believed  it."  Why 
should  they  ?  Knowing  him  only  as  one  of  their  circle, 
and  not  being  gifted  with  the  penetration  which  discerns 
a  latent  energy,  but  only  with  the  vision  which  discerns 
apparent  results,  they  are  taken  by  surprise.^  Nay,  so 
biassed  are  we  by  superficial  judgments,  that  we  frequently 
ignore  the  palpable  fact  of  achieved  excellence  simply  be- 
cause we  cannot  reconcile  it  with  our  judgment  of  the  man 
who  achieved  it.  The  deed  has  been  done,  the  work  written, 
the  picture  painted ;  it  is  before  the  world,  and  the  world  is 
ringing  with  applause.  There  is  no  doubt  whatever  that 
the  man  whose  name  is  in  every  mouth  did  the  work ;  but 
because  our  personal  impressions  of  him  do  not  correspond 
with  our  conceptions  of  a  powerful  man,  we  abate  or  with- 
draw our  admiration,  and  attribute  his  success  to  lucky  acci- 
dent. This  blear-eyed,  taciturn,  timid  man,  whose  knowledge 
of  many  things  is  manifestly  imperfect,  whose  inaptitude 
for  many  things  is  apparent,  can  he  be  the  creator  of  such 
glorious  works  ?  Can  he  be  the  large  and  patient  thinker, 
the  delicate  humourist,  the  impassioned  poet  ?  Nature  seems 
to  have  answered  this  question  for  us ;  yet  so  little  are  we 
inclined  to  accept  Nature's  emphatic  testimony  on  this 
point,  that  few  of  us  ever  see  without  disappointment  the 
man  whose  works  have  revealed  his  greatness.^ 

1  "No  man,  the  saying  goes,  is  a  hero  to  his  valet.  But  that  is  only 
because  it  takes  a  hero  to  recognize  a  hero.  The  valet  will  have  no  diffi- 
culty in  appreciating  his  like."  — Goethe,  '  Spriiche  in  Prosa,'  V.  (Sug- 
gested to  Goethe  by  Hegel.) 

2  Cf.  Bulwer-Lytton's  entertaining  essay  in  'The  Student':  'On  the 
Difference  between  Authors  and  the  Impression  conveyed  of  them  by 
their  Works.' 


52  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

52.  It  stands  to  reason  that  we  should  not  rightly  appre- 
ciate Shakspeare  if  we  were  to  meet  him,  simply  because 
we  should  meet  him  as  an  ordinary  man,  and  not  as  the 
author  of  '■  Hamlet.'  Yet  if  we  had  a  keen  insight  we 
should  detect  even  in  his  quiet  talk  the  marks  of  an  origi- 
nal mind.  AVe  could  not,  of  course,  divine,  without  evi- 
dence, how  deep  and  clear  his  insight,  how  mighty  his 
power  over  grand  representative  symbols,  how  prodigal  his 
genius :  these  only  could  appear  on  adequate  occasions. 
But  we  should  notice  that  he  had  an  independent  way  of 
looking  at  things.  He  would  constantly  bring  before  us 
some  latent  fact,  some  unsuspected  relation,  some  resem- 
blance between  dissimilar  things.  We  should  feel  that  his 
utterances  were  not  echoes.  If  therefore,  in  these  moments 
of  equable  serenity,  his  mind  glancing  over  trivial  things 
saw  them  with  great  clearness,  we  might  infer  that  in 
moments  of  intense  activity  his  mind  gazing  steadfastly  on 
important  things,  would  see  wonderful  visions,  where  to  us 
all  was  vague  and  shifting.  During  our  quiet  walk  with 
him  across  the  fields  he  said  little,  or  little  that  was  mem- 
orable ;  but  his  eye  was  taking  in  the  varying  forms  and 
relations  of  objects,  and  slowdy  feeding  his  mind  with 
images.  The  common  hedge-row,  the  gurgling  brook,  the 
waving  corn,  the  shifting  cloud-architecture,  and  the  slop- 
ing uplands,  have  been  seen  by  us  a  thousand  times,  but 
they  show  us  nothing  new ;  they  have  been  seen  by  him  a 
thousand  times,  and  each  time  with  fresh  interest,  and  fresh 
discovery.  If  he  describes  that  walk  he  will  surprise  us 
with  revelations :  we  can  then  and  thereafter  see  all  that 
he  points  out ;  but  we  needed  his  vision  to  direct  our  own. 
And  it  is  one  of  the  incalculable  influences  of  poetry  that 
each  new  revelation  is  an  education  of  the  eye  and  the  feel- 
ings. We  learn  to  see  and  feel  Nature  in  a  far  clearer  and 
profounder  way,  now  that  we  have  been  taught  to  look  by 
poets.     The  incuriouS;  unimpassioned   gaze  of  the   Alpine 


The  Principle  of  Vision.  53 

peasant  on  the  scenes  which  mysteriously  and  profoundly 
affect  the  cultivated  tourist,  is  the  gaze  of  one  who  has  never 
been  taught  to  look.  The  greater  sensibility  of  educated 
Europeans  to  influences  which  left  even  the  poetic  Greeks 
unmoved,  is  due  to  the  directing  vision  of  successive  poets. ^ 
53.  The  great  difficulty  which  besets  us  all  —  Shakspeares 
and  others,  but  Shakspeares  less  than  others  —  is  the  diffi- 
culty of  disengaging  the  mind  from  the  thraldom  of  sensa- 
tion and  habit,  and  escaping  from  the  pressure  of  objects 
immediately  present,  or  of  ideas  which  naturally  emerge, 
linked  together  as  they  are  by  old  associations.  We  have 
to  see  anew,  to  think  anew.  It  requires  great  vigour  to 
escape  from  the  old  and  spontaneously  recurrent  trains  of 
thought.  And  as  this  vigour  is  native,  not  acquired,  my 
readers  may,  perhaps,  urge  the  futility  of  expounding  with 
so  much  pains  a  principle  of  success  in  Literature  which, 
however  indispensable,  must  be  useless  as  a  guide ;  they 
may  object  that  although  good  Literature  rests  on  insight, 
there  is  nothing  to  be  gained  by  saying  "  unless  a  man  have 
the  requisite  insight  he  will  not  succeed."  But  there  is 
something  to  be  gained.  In  the  first  place,  this  is  an  ana- 
lytical inquiry  into  the  conditions  of  success :  it  aims  at 
discriminating  the  leading  principles  which  inevitably  deter- 
mine success.  In  the  second  place,  supposing  our  analysis 
of  the  conditions  to  be  correct,  practical  guidance  must  fol- 
low. We  cannot,  it  is  true,  gain  clearness  of  vision  simply 
by  recognising  its  necessity ;  but  by  recognising  its  neces- 
sity we  are  taught  to  seek  for  it  as  a  primary  condition  of 

1  The  influence  of  poets  and  other  artists  in  creating  a  sense  for  the 
appreciation  of  natural  beauty  can  hardly  be  overestimated.  "The  ap- 
preciation of  natural  beauty  by  the  public  mind  is  in  fact  conditioned  by 
and  historically  sequent  upon  the  revelations  made  by  great  painters  and 
poets ;  though  no  doubt  the  tendencies  of  these  men  are  themselves  con- 
trolled by  deep-seated  influences  in  the  state  of  culture  and  society."  — 
B.  Bosanquet,  '  The  Part  played  by  ^Esthetic  in  the  Development  of  Modern 
Philosophy.' 


54  The  Pi'inciples  of  Success  in  Literature. 

success ;  we  are  forced  to  come  to  an  understanding  with 
ourselves  as  to  whether  we  have  or  have  not  a  distinct 
vision  of  the  thing  we  speak  of,  whether  we  are  seers  or 
reporters,  whether  the  ideas  and  feelings  have  been  thought 
and  felt  by  us  as  part  and  parcel  of  our  own  individual 
experience,  or  have  been  echoed  by  us  from  the  books  and 
conversation  of  others  ?  We  can  always  ask,  are  we  paint- 
ing farm-houses  or  fairies  because  these  are  genuine  visions 
of  our  own,  or  only  because  farm-houses  and  fairies  have 
been  successfully  painted  by  others,  and  are  poetic  material  ? 
54.  The  man  who  first  saw  an  acid  redden  a  vegetable- 
blue,  had  something  to  communicate  ;  and  the  man  who  first 
saw  (mentally)  that  all  acids  redden  vegetable-blues,  had 
something  to  communicate.  But  no  man  can  do  this  again. 
In  the  course  of  his  teaching  he  may  have  frequently  to 
report  the  fact ;  but  this  repetition  is  not  of  much  value 
unless  it  can  be  made  to  disclose  some  new  relation.  And 
so  of  other  and  more  complex  cases.  Every  sincere  man 
can  determine  for  himself  whether  he  has  any  authentic 
tidings  to  communicate ;  and  although  no  man  can  hope  to 
discover  much  that  is  actually  new,  he  ought  to  assure  him- 
self that  even  what  is  old  in  his  work  has  been  authenti- 
cated by  his  own  experience.  He  should  not  even  speak  of 
acids  reddening  vegetable-blues  upon,  mere  hearsay,  unless 
he  is  speaking  figuratively.  All  his  facts  should  have  been 
verified  by  himself,  all  his  ideas  should  have  been  thought 
by  himself.  In  proportion  to  the  fulfilment  of  this  condi- 
tion will  be  his  success  ;  in  proportion  to  its  non-fulfilment, 
his  failure. 

/  55.  Literature  in  its  vast  extent  includes  writers  of  three 
different  classes,  and  in  speaking  of  success  we  must  always 
be  understood  to  mean  the  acceptance  each  writer  gains  in 
his  own  class ;  otherwise  a  flashy  novelist  might  seem  more 
successful  than  a  profound  poet ;  a  clever  compiler  more 
successful  than  an  original  discoverer. 


The  Principle  of  Vision.  55 

56.  The  Primary  Class  is  composed  of  the  born  seers  — 
men  who  see  for  themselves  and  who  originate.  These  are 
poets,  philosophers,  discoverers.  The  Secondary  Class  is 
composed  of  men  less  puissant  in  faculty,  but  genuine  also 
in  their  way,  who  travel  along  the  paths  opened  by  the  great 
originators,  and  also  point  out  many  a  side-path  and  shorter 
cut.  They  reproduce  and  vary  the  materials  furnished  by 
others,  but  they  do  this,  not  as  echoes  only,  they  authenti- 
cate their  tidings,  they  take  care  to  see  what  the  discoverers 
have  taught  them  to  see,  and  in  consequence  of  this  clear 
vision  they  are  enabled  to  arrange  and  modify  the  materials 
so  as  to  produce  new  results.  The  Primary  Class  is  com- 
posed of  men  of  genius,^  the  Secondary  Class  of  men  of 
talent.  It  not  unfrequently  happens,  especially  in  philoso- 
phy and  science,  that  the  man  of  talent  may  confer  a  lustre 
on  the  original  invention ;  he  takes  it  up  a  nugget  and  lays 
it  down  a  coin.  Finally,  there  is  the  largest  class  of  all, 
comprising  the  Imitators  in  Art,  and  the  Compilers  in  Phi- 
losophy. These  bring  nothing  to  the  general  stock.  They 
are  sometimes  (not  often)  useful ;  but  it  is  as  cornfactors, 
not  as  corn-growers.  They  sometimes  do  good  service  by 
distributing  knowledge  where  otherwise  it  might  never 
penetrate ;  but  in  general  their  work  is  more  hurtful  than 
beneficial :  hurtful,  because  it  is  essentially  bad  work,  being 
insincere  work,  and  because  it  stands  in  the  way  of  better 
work. 

57.  Even  among  Imitators  and  Compilers  there  are 
almost  infinite  degrees  of  merit  and  demerit :  echoes  of 
echoes  reverberating  echoes  in  endless  succession ;  compila- 
tions of  all  degrees  of  worth  and  worthlessness.  But,  as 
will  be  shown  hereafter,  even  in  this  lower  sphere  the  worth 
of  the  work  is  strictly  proportional  to  the  Vision,  Sincerity, 
and  Beauty ;  so  that  an  imitator  whose  eye  is  keen  for  the 

iCf.  James's  'Psychology,'  Vol.  I.,  pp.  423-124,  529-530;  Vol.  II.,  pp. 
360-362. 


56  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

forms  he  imitates,  whose  speech  is  honest,  and  whose  talent 
has  grace,  will  by  these  very  virtues  rise  almost  to  the 
Secondary  Class,  and  will  secure  an  honourable  success. 

58.  I  have  as  yet  said  but  little,  and  that  incidentally,  of 
the  part  played  by  the  Principle  of  Vision  in  Art.  Many 
readers  who  will  admit  the  principle  in  Science  and  Phi- 
losophy, may  hesitate  in  extending  it  to  Art,  which,  as  they 
conceive,  draws  its  inspirations  from  the  Imagination. 
Properly  understood  there  is  no  discrepancy  between  the 
two  opinions  ;  and  in  the  next  chapter  I  shall  endeavour  to 
show  how  Imagination  is  only  another  form  of  this  very 
Principle  of  Vision  which  we  have  been  considering. 


CHAPTER  III. 

OF   VISION   IN   AET. 
i.   Imagination. 

59.  There  are  many  who  will  admit,  without  hesitation, 
that  in  Philosophy  what  I  have  called  the  Principle  of 
Vision  holds  an  important  rank,  because  the  mind  must 
necessarily  err  in  its  speculations  unless  it  clearly  sees  facts 
and  relations ;  but  there  are  some  who  will  hesitate  before 
admitting  the  principle  to  a  similar  rank  in  Art,  because, 
as  they  conceive.  Art  is  independent  of  the  truth  of  facts, 
and  is  swayed  by  the  autocratic  power  of  Imagination. 

60.  It  is  on  this  power  that  our  attention  should  first  be 
arrested;  the  more  so  because  it  is  usually  spoken  of  in 
vague  rhapsodical  language,  with  intimations  of  its  being 
something  peculiarly  mysterious.  There  are  few  words 
more  abused.  The  artist  is  called  a  creator,  which  in  one 
sense  he  is  ;  and  his  creations  are  said  to  be  produced  by 
processes  wholly  unallied  to  the  creations  of  Philosophy, 
which  they  are  not.  Hence  it  is  a  paradox  to  speak  of  the 
^  Principia '  as  a  creation  demanding  severe  and  continuous 
exercise  of  the  imagination ;  but  it  is  only  a  paradox  to 
those  who  have  never  analysed  the  processes  of  artistic  and 
philosophic  creation. 

61.  I  am  far  from  desiring  to  innovate  in  language,  or  to 
raise  interminable  discussions  respecting  the  terms  in  gen- 
eral use.  Nevertheless  we  have  here  to  deal  with  questions 
that  lie  deeper  than  mere  names.  We  have  to  examine 
processes,  and  trace,  if  possible,  the  methods  of  intellectual 
activity  pursued  in  all  branches  of  Literature  ;  and  we  must 

57 


58  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature, 

not  suffer  our  course  to  be  obstructed  by  any  confusion  in 
terms  that  can  be  cleared  up.  We  may  respect  the  demar- 
cations established  by  usage,  but  we  must  ascertain,  if  pos- 
sible, the  fundamental  affinities.  There  is,  for  instance,  a 
broad  distinction  between  Science  and  Art,  which,  so  far 
from  requiring  to  be  effaced,  requires  to  be  emphasised :  it 
is  that  in  Science  the  jjaramount  appeal  is  to  the  Intellect 
—  its  purpose  being  instruction;  in  Art,  the  paramount 
appeal  is  to  the  Emotions  —  its  purpose  being  pleasure. 
A  work  of  Art  must  of  course  indirectly  appeal  to  the  In- 
tellect, and  a  work  of  Science  will  also  indirectly  appeal  to 
the  Feelings ;  nevertheless  a  poem  on  the  stars  and  a  trea- 
tise on  astronomy  have  distinct  aims  and  distinct  methods. 
But  having  recognised  the  broadly-marked  differences,  we 
are  called  upon  to  ascertain  the  underlying  resemblances. 
Logic  and  Imagination  belong  equally  to  both.  It  is  only 
because  men  have  been  attracted  by  the  differences  that 
they  have  overlooked  the  not  less  important  affinities. 
Imagination  is  an  intellectual  process  common  to  Philos- 
ophy and  Art ;  ^  but  in  each  it  is  allied  with  different  pro- 
cesses, and  directed  to  different  ends ;  and  hence,  although 
the  'Principia'  demanded  an  imagination  of  not  less  vivid 
and  sustained  i)ower  than  was  demanded  by  ^Othello,'  it 
would  be  very  false  psychology  to  infer  that  the  mind  of 
Newton  was  competent  to  the  creation  of  '  Othello,'  or  the 
mind  of  Shakspeare  capable  of  producing  the  'Principia.' 
They  were  specifically  different  minds ;  their  works  were 
specifically  different.  But  in  both  the  imagination  was 
intensely  active.  Newton  had  a  mind  predominantly 
ratiocinative :  its  movement  was  spontaneously  towards  the 
abstract  relations  of  things.     Shakspeare  had  a  mind  pre- 

1  Cf.  Lewes's  '  Problems  of  Life  and  Mind,'  1st  Series,  Prob.  I.,  Chap.  V. ; 
Tyndall's  '  Scientific  Use  of  the  Imagination  '  (in  'Fragments  of  Science') ; 
Everett's  '  Poetry,  Comedy,  and  Duty,'  pp.  5-49;  Baldwin's  '  Handbook  of 
Psychology,'  pp.  235-238;  Dewey's  'Psychology,'  Chap.  VII. 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  59 

dominantly  emotive,  the  intellect  always  moving  in  alliance 
with  the  feelings,  and  spontaneously  fastening  upon  the 
concrete  facts  in  preference  to  their  abstract  relations. 
Their  mental  Vision  was  turned  towards  images  of  different 
orders,  and  it  moved  in  alliance  with  different  faculties ; 
but  this  Vision  was  the  cardinal  quality  of  both.  Dr. 
Johnson  was  guilty  of  a  surprising  fallacy  in  saying  that 
a  great  mathematician  might  also  be  a  great  poet :  "  Sir,  a 
man  can  walk  east  as  far  as  he  can  walk  west."^  True,  but 
mathematics  and  poetry  do  not  differ  as  east  and  west ;  and 
he  would  hardly  assert  that  a  man  who  could  walk  twenty 
miles  could  therefore  swim  that  distance. 

62.  The  real  state  of  the  case  is  somewhat  obscured  by 
our  observing  that  many  men  of  science,  and  some  even 
eminent  as  teachers  and  reporters,  display  but  slender 
claims  to  any  unusual  vigour  of  imagination.  It  must  be 
owned  that  they  are  often  slightly  dull ;  and  in  matters  of 
Art  are  not  unfrequently  blockheads.  Nay,  they  would 
themselves  repel  it  as  a  slight  if  the  epithet  ''  imaginative  " 
were  applied  to  them;  it  would  seem  to  impugn  their 
gravity,  to  cast  doubts  u]3on  their  accuracy.  But  such  men 
are  the  cisterns,  not  the  fountains,  of  Science.  They  rely 
upon  the  knowledge  already  organised ;  they  do  not  bring 
accessions  to  the  common  stock.  They  are  not  investi- 
gators, but  imitators  ;  they  are  not  discoverers  —  inventors. 
No  man  ever  made  a  discovery  (he  may  have  stumbled  on 
one)  without  the  exercise  of  as  much  imagination  as,  em- 

1  "  Robertson  said,  one  man  had  more  judgment,  another  more  imagina- 
tion. Johnson :  '  No,  sir ;  it  is  only,  one  man  has  more  mind  than  an- 
other. He  may  direct  it  differently;  he  may,  by  accident,  see  the  success 
of  one  kind  of  study,  and  take  a  desire  to  excel  in  it.  I  am  persuaded  that, 
had  Sir  Isaac  Newton  applied  to  poetry,  he  would  have  made  a  very  fine 
epick  poem.  .  .  .  Sir,  the  man  who  has  vigour  may  walk  to  the  east,  just  as 
well  as  to  the  west,  if  he  happens  to  turn  his  head  that  way.'  "  — '  Journal  of 
a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,'  Aug.  15.  Cf.  Boswell's  'Johnson,'  Hill's  ed.,  H., 
430^37,  and  note. 


60  The  Principles  of  Success  hi  Literature. 

ployed  in  another  direction  and  in  alliance  with  other 
faculties,  would  have  gone  to  the  creation  of  a  poem. 
Every  one  who  has  seriously  investigated  a  novel  question, 
who  has  really  interrogated  Nature  with  a  view  to  a  dis- 
tinct answer,  will  bear  me  out  in  saying  that  it  requires 
intense  and  sustained  effort  of  imagination.  The  relations 
of  sequence  among  the  phenomena  must  be  seen ;  they  are 
hidden ;  they  can  only  be  seen  mentally ;  a  thousand  sug- 
gestions rise  before  the  mind,  but  they  are  recognised  as 
old  suggestions,  or  as  inadequate  to  reveal  what  is  souglit ; 
the  experiments  by  which  the  problem  may  be  solved  have 
to  be  imagined;  and  to  imagine  a  good  experiment  is  as 
difficult  as  to  invent  a  good  fable,  for  we  must  have  dis- 
tinctly p?'esen^ —  in  clear  mental  vision  —  the  known  quali- 
ties and  relations  of  all  the  objects,  and  must  see  what  will 
be  the  effect  of  introducing  some  new  qualifying  agent.  If 
any  one  thinks  this  is  easy,  let  him  try  it :  the  trial  will 
teach  him  a  lesson  respecting  the  methods  of  intellectual 
activity  not  without  its  use.  Easy  enough,  indeed,  is  the 
ordinary  practice  of  experiment,  which  is  either  a  mere 
repetition  or  variation  of  experiments  already  devised  (as 
ordinary  story-tellers  re-tell  the  stories  of  others),  or  else  a 
haphazard,  blundering  way  of  bringing  phenomena  together, 
to  see  what  will  happen.  To  invent  is  another  process. 
The  discoverer  and  the  poet  are  inventors ;  and  they  are 
so  because  their  mental  vision  detects  the  unapparent, 
unsuspected  facts,  almost  as  vividly  as  ocular  vision  rests 
on  the  apparent  and  familiar. 

63.  It  is  the  special  aim  of  Philosophy  to  discover  and 
systematise  the  abstract  relations  of  things ;  and  for  this 
purpose  it  is  forced  to  allow  the  things  themselves  to  drop 
out  of  sight,  fixing  attention  solely  on  the  quality  imme- 
diately investigated,  to  the  neglect  of  all  other  qualities. 
Thus   the    philosopher,^   having    to   appreciate   the   mass, 

1  That  is,  the  natural  philosopher,  or  scientist.  Cf.  Lewes's  '  History  of 
Philosophy,'  Introduction. 


•      Of  Visio7i  in  Art.  61 

density,  refracting  power,  or  cliemical  constitution  of  some 
object,  finds  he  can  best  appreciate  this  by  isolating  it  from 
every  other  detail.  He  abstracts  this  one  quality  from  the 
complex  bundle  of  qualities  which  constitute  the  object, 
and  he  makes  this  one  stand  for  the  whole.  This  is  a 
necessary  simplification.  If  all  the  qualities  were  equally 
present  to  his  mind,  his  vision  would  be  perplexed  by  their 
multiple  suggestions.  He  may  follow  out  the  relations  of 
each  in  turn,  but  he  cannot  follow  them  out  together, 

64.  The  aim  of  the  poet  is  very  different.  He  wishes  to 
kindle  the  emotions  by  the  suggestion  of  objects  them- 
selves ;  and  for  this  purpose  he  must  present  images  of  the 
objects  rather  than  of  any  single  quality.  It  is  true  that 
he  also  must  exercise  a  power  of  abstraction  and  selection. 
He  cannot  without  confusion  present  all  the  details.  And 
it  is  here  that  the  fine  selective  instinct  of  the  true  artist 
shows  itself,  in  knowing  what  details  to  present  and  what 
to  ofuit.  Observe  this :  the  abstraction  of  the  philosopher 
is  meant  to  keep  the  object  itself,  with  its  perturbing  sug- 
gestions, out  of  sight,  allowing  only  one  quality  to  fill  the 
field  of  vision ;  whereas  the  abstraction  of  the  poet  is  meant ' 
to  bring  the  object  itself  into  more  vivid  relief,  to  make  it 
visible  by  means  of  the  selected  qualities.  In  other  words, 
the  one  aims  at  abstract  symbols,  the  other  at  picturesque 
effects.  The  one  can  carry  on  his  deductions  by  the  aid  of 
colourless  signs,  x  or  y.  The  other  appeals  to  the  emotions 
through  the  symbols  which  will  most  vividly  express  the 
real  objects  in  their  relations  to  our  sensibilities. 

65.  Imagination  is  obviously  active  in  both.  From 
known  facts  the  x^hilosopher  infers  the  facts  that  are  un- 
apparent.  He  does  so  by  an  effort  of  imagination  (hypoth- 
esis) which  has  to  be  subjected  to  verification :  he  makes  a 
mental  picture  of  the  unapparent  fact,  and  then  sets  about 
to  prove  that  his  picture  does  in  some  way  correspond  with 
the  reality.     The  correctness  of  his  hypothesis  and  veri- 


62  The  P}'inciples  of  Success  in  Literature. 

fication  must  depend  on  the  clearness  of  his  vision.  Were 
all  the  qualities  of  things  apparent  to  Sense,  there  would 
be  no  longer  any  mystery.  A  glance  would  be  Science. 
But  only  some  of  the  facts  are  visible ;  and  it  is  because  we 
see  little,  that  we  have  to  imagine  much.  We  see  a  feather 
rising  in  the  air,  and  a  quill,  from  the  same  bird,  sinking  to 
the  ground  :  these  contradictory  reports  of  sense  lead  the 
mind  astray ;  or  perhaps  excite  a  desire  to  know  the  reason. 
We  cannot  see,  —  we  must  imagine,  —  the  unapparent  facts. 
Many  mental  pictures  may  be  formed,  but  to  form  the  one 
which  corresponds  with  the  reality  requires  great  sagacity 
and  a  very  clear  vision  of  known  facts.  In  tr3'ing  to  form 
this  mental  picture,  we  remember  that  when  the  air  is 
removed  the  feather  falls  as  rapidly  as  the  quill,  and  thus 
we  see  that  the  air  is  the  cause  of  the  feather's  rising ;  we 
mentally  see  the  air  pushing  under  the  feather,  and  see  it 
almost  as  plainly  as  if  the  air  were  a  visible  mass  thrusting 
the  feather  upwards. 

66.  From  a  mistaken  appreciation  of  the  real  process, 
this  would  by  few  be  called  an  effort  of  Imagination.  On 
the  contrary,  some  "wild  hypothesis"  would  be  lauded  as 
imaginative  in  proportion  as  it  departed  from  all  suggestion 
of  experience,  i.e.,  real  mental  vision.  To  have  imagined 
that  the  feather  rose  owing  to  its  "  specific  lightness,"  and 
that  the  quill  fell  owing  to  its  ''  heaviness,"  would  to  many 
appear  a  more  decided  effort  of  the  imaginative  faculty. 
Whereas  it  is  no  effort  of  that  faculty  at  all ;  it  is  simply 
naming  differently  the  facts  it  pretends  to  explain.  To 
imagine  — to  form  an  image  —  we  must  have  the  numerous 
relations  of  things  present  to  the  mind,  and  see  the  objects 
in  their  actual  order.  In  this  we  are  of  course  greatly  aided 
by  the  mass  of  organised  experience,  which  allows  us  rap- 
idly to  estimate  the  relations  of  gravity  or  affinity  just  as 
we  remember  that  fire  burns  and  that  heated  bodies  expand. 
But  be  the  aid  great  or  small,  and  the  result  victorious  or 
disastrous,  the  imaginative  process  is  always  the  same. 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  63 

67.  There  is  a  slighter  strain  on  the  imagination  of  the 
poet,  because  of  his  greater  freedom.  He  is  not,  like  the 
philosopher,  limited  to  the  things  which  are,  or  were.  His 
vision  includes  things  which  might  be,  and  things  which 
never  were.  The  jDhilosopher  is  not  entitled  to  assume  that 
Nature  sympathises  with  man ;  he  must  prove  the  fact  to 
be  so  if  he  intend  making  any  use  of  it ;  —  we  admit  no 
deductions  from  unproved  assumptions.  But  the  poet  is  at 
perfect  liberty  to  assume  this  ;  and  having  done  so,  he  paints 
what  would  be  the  manifestations  of  this  sympathy.  The 
naturalist  who  should  describe  a  hippogriff  would  incur  the 
laughing  scorn  of  Europe ;  but  the  poet  feigns  its  existence, 
and  all  Europe  is  delighted  when  it  rises  with  Astolfo  in 
the  air.  We  never  pause  to  ask  the  poet  whether  such  an 
animal  exists.  He  has  seen  it,  and  we  see  it  with  his  eyes. 
Talking  trees  do  not  startle  us  in  Virgil  and  Tennyson. 
Puck  and  Titania,  Hamlet  and  Ealstaff,  are  as  true  for  us 
as  Luther  and  Napoleon,  so  long  as  we  are  in  the  realm  of 
Art.  We  grant  the  poet  a  free  privilege  because  he  will 
use  it  only  for  our  pleasure.  In  Science  pleasure  is  not  an 
object,  and  we  give  no  licence. 

QS.  Philosophy  and  Art  both  render  the  invisible  visible 
by  imagination.  Where  Sense  observes  two  isolated  objects, 
Imagination  discloses  two  related  objects.  This  relation  is 
the  nexus  visible.  We  had  not  seen  it  before  ;  it  is  appar- 
ent now.  Where  we  should  only  see  a  calamity  the  poet 
makes  us  see  a  tragedy.  Where  we  could  only  see  a  sun- 
rise he  enables  us  to  see 

"  Day  like  a  mighty  river  flowing  in." 

69.  Imagination  is  not  the  exclusive  appanage  of  artists, 
but  belongs  in  varying  degrees  to  all  men.  It  is  simply  the 
power  of  forming  images.  Supplying  the  energy  of  Sense 
where  Sense  cannot  reach,  it  brings  into  distinctness  the 
facts,  obscure  or  occult,  which  are  grouped  round  an  object 


64  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

or  an  idea,  but  which  are  not  actually  present  to  Sense. 
Thus,  at  the  aspect  of  a  windmill,  the  mind  forms  images 
of  many  characteristic  facts  relating  to  it  5  and  the  kind  of 
images  will  depend  very  much  on  the  general  disposition, 
or  particular  mood,  of  the  mind  affected  by  the  object :  the 
painter,  the  poet,  and  the  moralist  will  have  different  images 
suggested  by  the  presence  of  the  windmill  or  its  symbol. 
There  are  indeed  sluggish  minds  so  incapable  of  self-evolved 
activity,  and  so  dependent  on  the  immediate  suggestions  of 
Sense,  as  to  be  almost  destitute  of  the  power  of  forming  dis- 
tinct images  beyond  the  immediate  circle  of  sensuous  asso- 
ciations ;  and  these  are  rightly  named  unimaginative  minds  ; 
but  in  all  minds  of  energetic  activity,  groups  and  clusters  of 
images,  many  of  them  representing  remote  relations,  spon- 
taneously present  themselves  in  conjunction  with  objects 
or  their  symbols.  It  should,  however,  be  borne  in  mind 
that  Imagination  can  only  recall  what  Sense  has  previously 
impressed.  No  man  imagines  any  detail  of  which  he  has 
not  previously  had  direct  or  indirect  experience.  Objects  as 
fictitious  as  mermaids  and  hippogrilfs  are  made  up  from  the 
gatherings  of  Sense. 

70.  "  Made  up  from  the  gatherings  of  Sense  "  is  a  phrase 
which  may  seem  to  imply  some  peculiar  plastic  power  such 
as  is  claimed  exclusively  for  artists  :  a  power  not  of  simple 
recollection,  but  of  recollection  and  recombination.  Yet 
this  power  belongs  also  to  philosophers.  To  combine  the 
half  of  a  woman  with  the  half  of  a  fish,  —  to  imagine  the 
union  as  an  existing  organism,  —  is  not  really  a  different 
process  from  that  of  combining  the  experience  of  a  chemical 
action  with  an  electric  action,  and  seeing  that  the  two  are 
one  existing  fact.  When  the  poet  hears  the  storm-cloud 
muttering,  and  sees  the  moonlight  sleeping  on  the  bank,  he 
transfers  his  experience  of  human  phenomena  to  the  cloud 
and  the  moonlight :  he  personifies,  draws  Nature  within  the 
circle  of  emotion,  and  is  called  a  poet.     When  the  philoso- 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  65 

plier  sees  electricity  in  the  storm-cloud,  and  sees  the  sunlight 
stimulating  vegetable  growth,  he  transfers  his  experience  of 
physical  phenomena  to  these  objects,  and  draws  within  the 
circle  of  Law  phenomena  which  hitherto  have  been  unclassi- 
fied. Obviously  the  imagination  has  been  as  active  in  the 
one  case  as  in  the  other ;  the  diffei-entia  lying  in  the  purposes 
of  the  two,  and  in  the  general  constitution  of  the  two  minds. 

71.  It  has  been  noted  that  there  is  less  strain  on  the 
imagination  of  the  poet ;  but  even  his  greater  freedom  is 
not  altogether  disengaged  from  the  necessity  of  verification ; 
his  images  must  have  at  least  subjective  truth;  if  they  do 
not  accurately  correspond  with  objective  realities,  they 
must  correspond  with  our  sense  of  congruity.  No  poet  is 
allowed  the  licence  of  creating  images  inconsistent  with  our 
conceptions.  If  he  said  the  moonlight  hurnt  the  bank,  we 
should  reject  the  image  as  untrue,  inconsistent  with  our 
conceptions  of  moonlight ;  whereas  the  gentle  repose  of  the 
moonlight  on  the  bank  readily  associates  itself  with  images 
of  sleep.^ 

72.  The  often  mooted  question.  What  is  Imagination  ? 
thus  receives  a  very  clear  and  definite  answer.  It  is  the 
power  of  forming  images  ;  it  reinstates,  in  a  visible  group, 
those  objects  which  are  invisible,  either  from  absence  or 
from  imperfection  of  our  senses.  That  is  its  generic  char- 
acter. Its  specific  character,  which  marks  it  oft'  from  Mem- 
ory, and  which  is  derived  from  the  powers  of  selection  and 
recombination,  will  be  expounded  further  on.  Here  I  only 
touch  upon  its  chief  characteristic,  in  order  to  disengage 
the  term  from  that  mysteriousness  which  writers  have 
usually  assigned  to  it,  thereby  rendering  philosophic  criti- 
cism impossible.  Thus  disengaged  it  may  be  used  with 
more  certainty  in  an  attempt  to  estimate  the  imaginative 
power  of  various  works. 

1  Cf .  Goethe's  dialogue,  '  Ueber  Wahrheit  und  Wahrscheinlichkeit  der 
Kunstwerke,'  Hempl  ed.,  Bd.  28,  p.  97. 


66  The  Prhicijjles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

73.  Hitherto  the  amount  of  that  power  has  been  too  fre- 
quently estimated  according  to  the  extent  of  dejyarture  from 
ordinary  experience  in  the  images  selected.  Nineteen  out 
of  twenty  would  unhesitatingly  declare  that  a  hippogriff 
was  a  greater  effort  of  imagination  than  a  well-conceived 
human  character  ;  a  Peri  than  a  woman  ;  Puck  or  Titania 
than  Falstaff  or  Imogen.  A  description  of  Paradise  ex- 
tremely unlike  any  known  garden  must,  it  is  thought,  neces- 
sarily be  more  imaginative  than  the  description  of  a  quiet 
rural  nook.  It  may  be  more  imaginative ;  it  may  be  less 
so.  All  depends  upon  the  mind  of  the  poet.  To  suppose 
that  it  must,  because  of  its  departure  from  ordinary  experi- 
ence, is  a  serious  error.  The  muscular  effort  required  to 
draw  a  cheque  for  a  thousand  pounds  might  as  reasonably 
be  thought  greater  than  that  required  for  a  cheque  of  five 
pounds  ;  and  much  as  the  one  cheque  seems  to  surpass  the 
other  in  value,  the  result  of  presenting  both  to  the  bankers 
may  show  that  the  more  modest  cheque  is  worth  its  full 
five  pounds,  whereas  the  other  is  only  so  much  waste  paper. 
The  description  of  Paradise  may  be  a  glittering  farrago; 
the  description  of  the  landscape  may  be  full  of  sweet  rural 
images  :  the  one  having  a  glare  of  gaslight  and  Vauxhall 
splendour  ;  the  other  having  the  scent  of  new-mown  hay. 

74.  A  work  is  imaginative  in  virtue  of  the  power  of  its 
images  over  our  emotions ;  not  in  virtue  of  any  rarity  or 
surprisingness  in  the  images  themselves.  A  Madonna  and 
Child  b}'  Fra  Angelico  is  more  powerful  over  our  emotions 
than  a  Crucifixion  by  a  vulgar  artist;  a  beggar-boy  by 
Murillo  is  more  imaginative  than  an  Assumption  by  the  same 
painter ;  but  the  Assumption  by  Titian  displays  far  greater 
imagination  than  either.  We  must  guard  against  the 
natural  tendency  to  attribute  to  the  artist  what  is  entirely 
due  to  accidental  conditions.  A  tropical  scene,  luxuriant 
with  tangled  overgrowth  and  impressive  in  the  grandeur 
of  its  phenomena,  may  more  decisively  arrest  our  attention 


Of  Vision  iyi  Art.  67 

than  an  English  landscape  with  its  green  cornlands  and 
plenteous  homesteads.  But  this  superiority  of  interest  is 
no  proof  of  the  artist's  superior  imagination ;  and  by  a 
spectator  familiar  with  the  tropics,  greater  interest  may  be 
felt  in  the  English  landscape,  because  its  images  may  more 
forcibly  arrest  his  attention  by  their  novelty.  And  were 
this  not  so,  were  the  inalienable  impressiveness  of  tropical 
scenery  always  to  give  the  poet  who  described  it  a  superi- 
ority in  effect,  this  would  not  prove  the  superiority  of  his 
imagination.  For  either  he  has  been  familiar  with  such 
scenes,  and  imagines  them  just  as  the  other  poet  imagines 
his  English  landscape  —  by  an  effort  of  mental  vision,  call- 
ing up  the  absent  objects ;  or  he  has  merely  read  the 
descriptions  of  others,  and  from  these  makes  up  his  picture. 
It  is  the  same  with  his  rival,  who  also  recalls  and  recom- 
bines.  Foolish  critics  often  betray  their  ignorance  by  say- 
ing that  a  painter  or  a  writer  "only  copies  Avhat  he  has 
seen,  or  puts  down  what  he  has  known."  They  forget  that 
no  man  imagines  what  he  has  not  seen  or  known,  and  that 
it  is  in  the  selection  of  the  characteristic  details^  that  the 
artistic  power  is  manifested.  Those  who  suppose  that 
familiarity  with  scenes  or  characters  enables  a  painter  or  a 
novelist  to  "  copy "  them  with  artistic  effect,  forget  the 
well-known  fact  that  the  vast  majority  of  men  are  painfully 
incompetent  to  avail  themselves  of  this  familiarity,  and 
cannot  form  vivid  pictures  even  to  themselves  of  scenes  in 
which  they  pass  their  daily  lives  ;  and  if  they  could  imagine 
these,  they  would  need  the  delicate  selective  instinct  to 
guide  them  in  the  admission  and  omission  of  details,  as 
well  as  in  the  grouping  of  the  images.  Let  any  one  try  to 
"copy"  the  wife  or  brother  he  knows  so  well, — to  make  a 
human  image  which  shall  speak  and  act  so  as  to  impress 
strangers  with  a  belief  in  its  truth,  —  and  he  will  then  see 

1  Cf.  Taine, '  Philosophie  de  I'Art,'  1.,  Sect.  V. 


68  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

that  the  much-despised  reliance  on  actual  experience  is  not 
the  mechanical  procedure  it  is  believed  to  be.  When  Scott 
drew  Saladin  and  Coeur  de  Lion  he  did  not  really  display 
more  imaginative  power  than  when  he  drew  the  Muckle- 
backits,  although  the  majorit}^  of  readers  would  suppose 
that  the  one  demanded  a  great  effort  of  imagination, 
whereas  the  other  formed  part  of  his  familiar  experiences 
of  Scottish  life.  The  mistake  here  lies  in  confounding  the 
sources  from  which  the  materials  were  derived  with  the 
plastic  power  of  forming  these  materials  into  images. 
More  conscious  effort  may  have  been  devoted  to  the  collec- 
tion of  the  materials  in  the  one  case  than  in  the  other,  but 
that  this  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  imaginative  power 
employed  may  readily  be  proved  by  an  analysis  of  the 
intellectual  processes  of  composition.  Scott  had  often 
been  in  fishermen's  cottages  and  heard  them  talk;  from 
the  registered  experience  of  a  thousand  details  relating  to 
the  life  of  the  poor,  their  feelings  and  their  thoughts,  he 
gained  that  material  upon  which  his  imagination  could 
work ;  in  the  case  of  Saladin  and  Coeur  de  Lion  he  had  to 
gain  these  principally  through  books  and  his  general  ex- 
perience of  life  ;  and  the  images  he  formed  —  the  vision  he 
had  of  Mucklebackit  and  Saladin  —  must  be  set  down  to 
his  artistic  faculty,  not  to  his  experience  or  erudition. 

75.  It  has  been  well  said  by  a  very  imaginative  writer,^ 
that  "  when  a  poet  floats  in  the  empyrean,  and  only  takes 
a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  earth,  some  people  accept  the  mere 
fact  of  his  soaring  for  sublimity,  and  mistake  his  dim  vision 
of  earth  for  proximity  to  heaven."  And  in  like  manner, 
when  a  thinker  frees  himself  from  all  the  trammels  of  fact, 
and  propounds  a  "bold  hypothesis,"  people  mistake  the 
vagabond  erratic  flights  of  guessing  for  a  higher  range  of 
philosophic    power.      In    truth,    the   imagination   is    most 

1  George  Eliot,  in  Westminster  Review,  Vol.  67,  '  AVorldliness  and  Other- 
Worldliness :  The  Poet  Young.' 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  69 

tasked  when  it  has  to  paint  pictures  which  shall  withstand 
the  silent  criticism  of  general  experience,  and  to  frame 
hypotheses  which  shall  withstand  the  confrontation  with 
facts.  I  cannot  here  enter  into  the  interesting  question  of 
Realism  and  Idealism  in  Art,  which  must  be  debated  in  a 
future  chapter ;  but  I  wish  to  call  special  attention  to  the 
psychological  fact,  that  fairies  and  demons,  remote  as  they 
are  from  experience,  are  not  created  by  a  more  vigorous 
effort  of  imagination  than  milkmaids  and  poachers.  The 
intensity  of  vision  in  the  artist  and  of  vividness  in  his 
creations  are  the  sole  tests  of  his  imaginative  power. 

ii.   Distinct  Images  Necessary. 

76.  If  this  brief  exposition  has  carried  the  reader's  assent, 
he  will  readily  apply  the  principle,  and  recognise  that  an 
artist  produces  an  effect  in  virtue  of  the  distinctness  with 
which  he  sees  the  objects  he  represents,  seeing  them  not 
vaguely  as  in  vanishing  apparitions,  but  steadily,  and  in 
their  most  characteristic  relations.  To  this  Vision  he  adds 
artistic  skill  with  which  to  make  us  see.  He  may  have 
clear  conceptions,  yet  fail  to  make  them  clear  to  us :  in  this 
case  he  has  imagination,  but  is  not  an  artist.  Without  clear 
Vision  no  skill  can  avail.  Imperfect  Vision  necessitates 
imperfect  representation  ;  words  take  the  place  of  ideas. 

77.  In  Young's  ^ Night  Thoughts'  there  are  many  exam- 
ples of  the  pseztc^o-imaginative,  betraying  an  utter  want  of 
steady  Vision.     Here  is  one  :  — 

"  His  hand  the  good  man  fastens  on  the  skies, 
And  bids  earth  roll,  nor  feels  her  idle  whirl." 

'^  Pause  for  a  moment,"  remarks  a  critic,^  "  to  realise  the 
image,  and  the  monstrous  absurdity  of  a  man's  grasping  the 

1  George  Eliot,  in  the  article  just  noted.  The  lines,  which  are  from 
'Night'  IV.,  are  misquoted  both  in  the  Westminster  Review  and  in  the 
Fortnightly. 


70  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

skies  and  hanging  habitually  suspended  there,  while  he  con- 
temptuously bids  earth  roll,  warns  you  that  no  genuine 
feeling  could  have  suggested  so  unnatural  a  conception."  ^ 
It  is  obvious  that  if  Young  had  imagined  the  position  he 
assigned  to  the  good  man  he  would  have  seen  its  absurdity ; 
instead  of  imagining,  he  allowed  the  vague  transient  sug- 
gestion of  half-nascent  images  to  shape  themselves  in  verse. 
78.  Now  compare  with  this  a  passage  in  which  imagina- 
tion is  really  active.     Wordsworth  recalls  how  — 

"  In  November  days, 
When  vapours  rolling  down  the  valleys  made 
A  lonely  scene  more  lonesome;  among  woods 
At  noon;  and  mid  the  calm  of  summer  nights, 
AVhen,  by  the  margin  of  the  trembling  lake, 
Beneath  the  gloomy  hills,  homeward  I  went 
In  solitude,  such  intercourse  was  mine." 

There  is  nothing  very  grand  or  impressive  in  this  passage, 
and  therefore  it  is  a  better  illustration  for  my  purpose. 
Note  how  happily  the  one  image,  out  of  a  thousand  possible 
images  by  which  November  might  be  characterised,  is 
chosen  to  call  up  in  us  the  feeling  of  the  lonely  scene ;  and 
with  what  delicate  selection  the  calm  of  summer  nights,  the 
"trembling  lake"  (an  image  in  an  epithet),  and  the  gloomy 
hills,  are  brought  before  us.  His  boyhood  might  have  fur- 
nished him  with  a  hundred  different  j)ictures,  each  as  dis- 
tinct as  this ;  the  power  is  shown  in  selecting  this  one  — 
painting  it  so  vividly.     He  continues  :  — 

"  Mine  was  it  in  the  fields  both  day  and  night 
And  by  the  waters,  all  the  summer  long. 

1  One  further  passage  from  the  same  article  is  worth  quoting:    "No 

writer  whose  rhetoric  was  checked  by  the  slightest  truthful  intentions, 

could  have  said,  —    ,  ,  ,  ,         ,     . 

•  An  eye  of  awe  and  wonder  let  me  roll, 

And  roll  for  ever.' 

Abstracting  the  mere  poetical  associations  with  the  eye,  this  is  hardly  less 
absurd  than  if  he  had  wished  to  stand  forever  with  his  mouth  open." 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  71 

And  in  the  frosty  season,  when  the  sun 

Was  set,  and,  visible  for  many  a  mile. 

The  cottage  windows  through  the  twilight  blazed, 

I  heeded  not  the  summons :  happy  time 

It  was  indeed  for  all  of  us  ;  for  me 

It  was  a  time  of  rapture  !     Clear  and  loud 

The  village-clock  tolled  six  —  I  wheeled  about, 

Proud  and  exulting  like  an  untired  horse 

That  cares  not  for  his  home.     All  shod  with  steel 

We  hissed  along  the  polished  ice,  in  games 

Confederate,  imitative  of  the  chase 

And  woodland  pleasures,  —  the  resounding  horn, 

The  pack  loud-chiming,  and  the  hunted  hare." 

79.  There  is  nothing  very  felicitous  in  these  lines  ;  yet 
even  here  the  poet,  if  languid,  is  never  false.  As  he  pro- 
ceeds the  vision  brightens,  and  the  verse  becomes  instinct 
with  life :  — 

"  So  through  the  darkness  and  the  cold  we  flew, 
And  not  a  voice  was  idle :  with  the  din 
Smitten,  the  precipices  rang  aloud  ; 
The  leafless  trees  and  every  icy  crag 
Tinkled  like  iron;  lohile  far- distant  hills 
Into  the  tumult  sent  an  alien  sound 
Of  melancholy.,  not  unnoticed  while  the  stars, 
Eastward,  were  sparkling  clear,  and  in  the  west 
The  orange  sky  of  evening  died  away, 

"  Not  seldom  from  the  uproar  I  retired 
Into  a  silent  bay,  or  sportively 
Glanced  side  way,  leaving  the  tumultuous  throng, 
To  cut  across  the  reflex  of  a  star  ; 
Image,  that,  flying  still  before  me,  gleamed 
Upon  the  glassy  plain  :  and  oftentimes. 
When  we  had  given  our  bodies  to  the  wind. 
And  all  the  shadoivy  banks  on  either  side 
Came  sweeping  through  the  darkness,  spinning  still 
The  rapid  line  of  motion,  then  at  once 
Have  I,  reclining  back  upon  my  heels. 
Stopped  short ;  yet  still  the  solitary  cliffs 


72  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

Wheeled  by  me  —  even  as  if  the  earth  had  rolled 
With  visible  motion  her  diurnal  round  ! 
Behind  me  did  they  stretch  in  solemn  train, 
Feebler  and  feebler,  and  I  stood  and  watched 
Till  all  was  tranquil  as  a  summer  sea."  i 

79  a.  Every  poetical  reader  will  feel  delight  in  the  accu- 
racy with  which  the  details  are  painted,  and  the  marvelous 
clearness  with  which  the  whole  scene  is  imagined,  both  in 
its  objective  and  subjective  relations,  i.e.,  both  in  the  objects 
seen  and  the  emotions  they  suggest. 

80.  What  the  majority  of  modern  verse  writers  call 
"  imagery,"  is  not  the  product  of  imagination,  but  a  restless 
pursuit  of  comparison,  and  a  lax  use  of  language.  Instead 
of  presenting  us  with  an  image  of  the  object,  they  present 
us  with  something  Avhich  they  tell  us  is  like  the  object  — 
which  it  rarely  is.  The  thing  itself  has  no  clear  signifi- 
cance to  them,  it  is  only  a  text  for  the  display  of  their 
ingenuity.  If,  however,  we  turn  from  poetasters  to  poets, 
we  see  great  accuracy  in  depicting  the  things  themselves  or 
their  suggestions,  so  that  we  may  be  certain  the  things  pre- 
sented themselves  in  the  field  of  the  poet's  vision,  and  were 
painted  because  seen.  The  images  arose  with  sudden  vivac- 
ity, or  were  detained  long  enough  to  enable  their  characters 
to  be  seized.  It  is  this  power  of  detention  to  which  I 
would  call  particidar  notice,  because  a  valuable  practical 
lesson  may  be  learned  through  a  proper  estimate  of  it.  If 
clear  Vision  be  indispensable  to  success  in  Art,  all  means 
of   securing   that   clearness   should  be   sought.     Now"  one 

1  The  fragment  from  which  these  lines  are  quoted  first  appeared  in  1809 
in  the  magazine  known  as  The  Friend.  It  was  republished  several  times 
under  the  title  '  Influence  of  Natural  Objects  in  Calling  Forth  and  Strength- 
ening the  Imagination  in  Boyhood  and  Early  Youth/  and  was  finally  incor- 
porated in  Book  I.  of  '  The  Prelude.'  Lewes,  in  the  Fortnightly  text,  seems 
to  be  quoting,  not  always  accurately,  from  an  edition  prior  to  that  of  1845. 
The  lines  as  given  here  are  corrected  to  agree  with  the  text  of  Knight's 
edition,  Vol.  II.,  pp.  53-5i. 


Of  Vision  in  Art  73 

means  is  that  of  detaining  an  image  long  enough  before  the 
mind  to  allow  of  its  being  seen  in  all  its  characteristics. 
The  explanation  Newton  gave  of  his  discovery  of  the  great 
law,  points  in  this  direction ;  it  was  by  always  thinking  of 
the  subject,  by  keeping  it  constantly  before  his  mind,  that 
he  finally  saw  the  truth.  Artists  brood  over  the  chaos  of 
their  suggestions,  and  thus  shape  them  into  creations.  Try 
and  form  a  picture  in  your  own  mind  of  your  early  skating 
experience.  It  may  be  that  the  scene  only  comes  back 
upon  you  in  shifting  outlines,  you  recall  the  general  facts, 
and  some  few  particulars  are  vivid,  but  the  greater  part  of 
the  details  vanish  again  before  they  can  assume  decisive 
shape ;  they  are  but  half  nascent,  or  die  as  soon  as  born :  a 
wave  of  recollection  washes  over  the  mind,  but  it  quickly 
retires,  leaving  no  trace  behind.  This  is  the  common  ex- 
perience. Or  it  may  be  that  the  whole  scene  flashes  upon 
you  Avith  peculiar  vividness,  so  that  you  see,  almost  as  in 
actual  presence,  all  the  leading  characteristics  of  the  picture.^ 
Wordsworth  may  have  seen  his  early  days  in  a  succession 
of  vivid  flashes,  or  he  may  have  attained  to  his  distinctness 
of  vision  by  a  steadfast  continuity  of  effort,  in  which  what 
at  first  was  vague  became  slowly  definite  as  he  gazed.  It  is 
certain  that  only  a  very  imaginative  mind  could  have  seen 
such  details  as  he  has  gathered  together  in  the  lines  describ- 
ing how  he 

"  Cut  across  the  reflex  of  a  star ; 

Image,  that,  flying  still  before  me,  gleamed 
Upon  the  glassy  plain," 

81.  The  whole  description  may  have  been  written  with 
great  rapidity,  or  with  anxious  and  tentative  labour :  the 

1 "  They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude." 

—  Mrs.  Wordsworth,  in  '  The  DaflTodils.' 

Wordsworth  says  of  this  poem,  "The  subject  of  these  stanzas  is  rather 
an  elementary  feeling  and  simple  impression  (approaching  to  the  nature  of 
an  ocular  spectrum)  upon  the  imaginative  faculty,  than  an  exertion  of  it." 


74  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

memories  of  boyish  days  may  have  been  kindled  with  a 
sudden  illumination,  or  they  may  have  grown  slowly  into 
the  requisite  distinctness,  detail  after  detail  emerging  from 
the  general  obscurity,  like  the  appearing  stars  at  night. 
But  whether  the  poet  felt  his  way  to  images  and  epithets, 
rapidly  or  slowly,  is  unimportant ;  we  have  to  do  only  with 
the  result ;  and  the  result  implies,  as  an  absolute  condition, 
that  the  images  were  distinct.  Only  thus  could  they  serve 
the  purposes  of  poetry,  which  must  arouse  in  us  memories 
of  similar  scenes,  and  kindle  emotions  of  pleasurable  ex- 
perience. 

iii.   Burke  on  Indistinct  hnagery. 

82.  Having  cited  an  example  of  bad  writing  consequent 
on  imperfect  Vision,  and  an  example  of  good  writing  conse- 
quent on  accurate  Vision,  I  might  consider  that  enough  had 
been  done  for  the  immediate  purpose  of  the  present  chap- 
ter; the  many  other  illustrations  which  the  Principle  of 
Vision  would  require  before  it  could  be  considered  as  ade- 
quately expounded,  I  must  defer  till  I  come  to  treat  of  the 
application  of  principles.  But  before  closing  this  chapter 
it  may  be  needful  to  examine  some  arguments  which  have 
a  contrary  tendency,  and  imply,  or  seem  to  imply,  that  dis- 
tinctness of  Vision  is  very  far  from  necessary. 

83.  At  the  outset  we  must  come  to  an  understanding  as 
to  this  word  "  image,"  and  endeavour  to  free  the  word  "  vis- 
ion" from  all  equivoque.  If  these  words  were  understood 
literally  there  would  be  an  obvious  absurdity  in  speaking 
of  an  image  of  a  sound,  or  of  seeing  an  emotion.  Yet  if  by 
means  of  symbols  the  effect  of  a  sound  is  produced  in  us, 
or  the  psychological  state  of  any  human  being  is  rendered 
intelligible  to  us,  we  are  said  to  have  images  of  these  things, 
which  the  poet  has  imagined.  It  is  because  the  eye  is  the 
most  valued  and  intellectual  of  our  senses  that  the  majority 
of  metaphors  are  borrowed  from  its  sensations.     Language, 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  75 

after  all,  is  only  the  use  of  symbols,  and  Art  also  can  only 
affect  us  through  symbols.  If  a  phrase  can  summon  a 
terror  resembling  that  summoned  by  the  danger  which  it 
indicates,  a  man  is  said  to  see  the  danger.  Sometimes  a 
phrase  will  awaken  more  vivid  images  of  danger  than 
would  be  called  up  by  the  actual  presence  of  the  dangerous 
object ;  because  the  mind  will  more  readily  apprehend  the 
symbols  of  the  phrase  than  interpret  the  indications  of 
unassisted  sense. 

84.  Burke,  in  his  ^  Essay  on  the  Sublime  and  Beauti- 
ful,' ^  lays  down  the  proposition  that  distinctness  of  im- 
agery is  often  injurious  to  the  effect  of  Art.  "It  is  one 
thing,"  he  says,  "  to  make  an  idea  clear,  another  to  make  it 
affecting  to  the  imagination.  If  I  make  a  drawing  of  a  pal- 
ace or  a  temple  or  a  landscape,  I  present  a  very  clear  idea  of 
those  objects ;  but  then  (allowing  for  the  effect  of  imita- 
tion, which  is  something)  my  picture  can  at  most  affect  only 
as  the  palace,  temple,  or  landscape  would  have  affected  in 
reality.  On  the  other  hand,  the  most  lively  and  spirited 
verbal  description  I  can  give  raises  a  very  obscure  and  im- 
perfect idea  of  such  objects ;  -  but  then  it  is  in  my  power  to 
raise  a  stronger  emotion  by  the  description  than  I  could  do  by 
the  best  painting.  This  experience  constantly  evinces.  The 
proper  manner  of  conveying  the  affections  of  the  mind  from 

1  Part  II.,  Sect.  IV. 

2  "  '  Fair  is  her  cottage  in  its  place, 
Where  yon  broad  water  sweetly  slowly  glides. 

It  sees  itself  from  thatch  to  base 
Dream  in  the  sliding  tides.' 

"  I  cannot  call  up  any  vision  of  this  scene  which  gives  me  any  vivid  pleas- 
ure, nor  are  any  two  visions  of  it  that  I  call  up  alike.  For  visualising  pur- 
poses I  should  be  much  assisted  by  knowing  how  many  windows  the  cottage 
had,  where  the  door  was,  how  many  trees  there  were  about,  and  so  on. 
Nevertheless,  I  wonld  assert  with  confidence  that  the  stanza  has  produced 
in  me,  and  doubtless  in  many  others,  greater  rushes  of  delightful  emotion 
than  the  sight  of  what  is  described  has  ever  produced  in  any  human 
being."  —  Gurney's  '  Power  of  Sound,'  p.  449,  note. 


76  The  Princij^les  of  Success  ill  Literature. 

one  to  another  is  by  words ;  there  is  great  insufficiency  in 
all  other  methods  of  communication ;  and  so  far  is  a  clear- 
ness of  imagery  from  being  absolutely  necessary  to  an  in- 
fluence upon  the  passions,  that  they  may  be  considerably 
operated  upon  without  presenting  any  image  at  all,  by  cer- 
tain sounds  adapted  to  that  purpose."  If  by  image  is  meant 
only  what  the  eye  can  see,  Burke  is  undoubtedly  right.  But 
this  is  obviously  not  our  restricted  meaning  of  the  word 
when  we  speak  of  poetic  imagery;  and  Burke's  error  be- 
comes apparent  when  he  proceeds  to  show  that  there  "are 
reasons  in  nature  why  the  obscure  idea,  when  properly  con- 
veyed, should  be  more  affecting  than  the  clear."  He  does 
not  seem  to  have  considered  that  the  idea  of  an  indefinite 
object  can  only  be  properly  conveyed  by  indefinite  images ; 
any  image  of  Eternity  or  Death  that  pretended  to  visual  dis- 
tinctness would  be  false.  Having  overlooked  this,  he  says, 
"  We  do  not  anywhere  meet  a  more  sublime  description  than 
this  justly  celebrated  one  of  Milton,  wherein  he  gives  the 
portrait  of  Satan  with  a  dignity  so  suitable  to  the  subject:  — 

"  '  He,  above  the  rest 
In  shape  and  gesture  proudly  eminent, 
Stood  Uke  a  tower.     His  form  had  not  yet  lost 
All  her  original  brightness,  nor  appeared 
Less  than  archangel  ruined,  and  the  excess 
Of  glory  obscured  :  as  when  the  sun  new-risen 
Looks  through  the  horizontal  misty  air 
Shorn  of  his  beams,  or,  from  behind  the  moon, 
In  dim  eclipse,  disastrous  twilight  sheds 
On  half  the  nations,  and  with  fear  of  change 
Perplexes  monarchs.'  i 

Here  is  a  very  noble  picture,"  adds  Burke,  "and  in  what 
does  this  poetical  picture  consist?  In  images  of  a  tower, 
an  archangel,  the  sun  rising  through  mists,  or  in  an  eclipse, 
the  ruin  of  monarchs,  and  the  revolutions  of  kingdoms." 

1 ' Paradise  Lost,'  Book  I.,  11.  589-599. 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  77 

Instead  of  recognising  the  imagery  here  as  the  source  of  the 
power,  he  says,  "  The  mind  is  hurried  out  of  itself  [rather 
a  strange  result !]  by  a  crowd  of  great  and  confused  images; 
which  affect  because  they  are  crowded  and  confused.  For, 
separate  them,  and  you  lose  much  of  the  greatness;  and 
join  them,  and  you  infallibly  lose  the  clearness."  This  is 
altogether  a  mistake.  The  images  are  vivid  enough  to  make 
us  feel  the  hovering  presence  of  an  awe-inspiring  figure 
having  the  height  and  firmness  of  a  tower,  and  the  dusky 
splendour  of  a  ruined  archangel.  The  poet  indicates  only 
that  amount  of  concreteness  which  is  necessary  for  the 
clearness  of  the  picture,  —  only  the  height  and  firmness  of 
the  tower  and  the  brightness  of  the  sun  in  eclipse.  More 
concreteness  would  disturb  the  clearness  by  calling  atten- 
tion to  irrelevant  details.  To  suppose  that  these  images 
produce  the  effect  because  they  are  crowded  and  confused 
(they  are  crowded  and  not  confused)  is  to  imply  that  any 
other  images  would  do  equally  well,  if  they  were  equally 
crowded.  "  Separate  them,  and  you  lose  much  of  the  great- 
ness." Quite  true :  the  image  of  the  tower  would  want  the 
splendour  of  the  sun.  But  this  much  may  be  said  of  all 
descriptions  which  proceed  upon  details.  And  so  far  from 
the  impressive  clearness  of  the  picture  vanishing  in  the 
crowd  of  images,  it  is  by  these  images  that  the  clearness  is 
produced:  the  details  make  it  impressive,  and  affect  our 
imagination. 

85.  It  should  be  added  that  Burke  came  very  near  a  true 
explanation  in  the  following  passage  :  —  "It  will  be  difficult 
to  conceive  how  words  can  move  the  passions  Avhich  belong 
to  real  objects  without  representing  these  objects  clearly. 
This  is  difficult  to  us  because  we  do  not  sufficiently  distin- 
guish, in  our  observations  upon  language,  between  a  clear 
expression  and  a  strong  expression.  The  former  regards 
the  understanding ;  the  latter  belongs  to  the  passions.  The 
one  describes  a  thing  as  it  is,  the  other  describes  it  as  it  is 


78  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literatiire. 

felt.  Now  as  there  is  a  moving  tone  of  voice,  an  impas- 
sioned countenance,  an  agitated  gesture,  wliicli  affect  inde- 
pendently of  the  things  about  which  they  are  exerted,  so 
there  are  words  and  certain  dispositions  of  words  which 
being  peculiarly  devoted  to  passionate  subjects,  and  always 
used  by  those  who  are  under  the  influence  of  any  passion, 
touch  and  move  us  more  than  those  which  far  more  clearly 
and  distinctly  express  the  subject-matter."^  Burke  here 
fails  to  see  that  the  tones,  looks,  and  gestures  are  the  intel- 
ligible symbols  of  passion  —  the  "  images  "  in  the  true  sense 
—  just  as  words  are  the  intelligible  symbols  of  ideas.  The 
subject-matter  is  as  clearly  expressed  by  the  one  as  by 
the  other ;  for  if  the  description  of  a  Lion  be  conveyed  in 
the  symbols  of  admiration  or  of  terror,  the  subject-matter  is 
then  a  Lion  passionately  and  not  zoologically  considered.^ 
And  this  Burke  himself  was  led  to  admit,  for  he  adds,  "We 
yield  to  sympathy  what  we  refuse  to  description.  The 
truth  is,  all  verbal  description,  merely  as  naked  description, 
though  never  so  exact,  conveys  so  poor  and  insufficient  an 
idea  of  the  thing  described,  that  it  could  scarcely  have  the 
smallest  effect  if  the  speaker  did  not  call  in  to  his  aid  those 
modes  of  speech  that  mark  a  strong  and  lively  feeling  in 
himself.  Then,  by  the  contagion  of  our  passions,  we  catch 
a  fire  already  kindled  in  another."  This  is  very  true,  and 
it  sets  clearly  forth  the  fact  that  naked  description,  ad- 
dressed to  the  calm  understanding,  has  a  different  subject- 
matter  from  description  addressed  to  the  feelings,  and  the 
symbols  by  Avhich  it  is  made  intelligible  must  likewise  dif- 
fer. But  this  in  no  way  impugns  the  Principle  of  Vision. 
Intelligible  symbols  (clear  images)  are  as  necessary  in  the 
one  case  as  in  the  other. 

1  Part  v.,  Sect.  VII. 

2 See  J.  S.  Mill's  '  Dissertations  and  Discussions,'  Vol.  I.,  'Thoughts  on 
Poetry  and  its  Varieties,'  from  which  this  illustration  is  taken. 


Of  Visio7i  in  Art  79 


iv.    Imagination  and  Memory. 

S6.  By  reducing  imagination  to  the  power  of  forming 
images,  and  by  insisting  that  no  image  can  be  formed 
except  out  of  the  elements  furnished  by  experience,  I  do 
not  mean  to  confound  imagination  with  memory;  indeed, 
the  frequent  occurrence  of  great  strength  of  memory  with 
comparative  feebleness  of  imagination,  would  suffice  to  warn 
us  against  such  a  conclusion. 

87.  Its  si^ecific  character,  that  which  marks  it  off  from 
simple  memory,  is  its  tendency  to  selection,  abstraction,  and 
recombination.  Memory,  as  passive,  simply  recalls  previous 
experiences  of  objects  and  emotions ;  from  these,  imagina- 
tion, as  an  active  faculty,  selects  the  elements  which  vividly 
symbolise  the  objects  or  emotions,  and  either  by  a  process 
of  abstraction  allows  these  to  do  duty  for  the  wholes,  or 
else  by  a  process  of  recombination  creates  new  objects  and 
new  relations  in  which  the  objects  stand  to  us  or  to  each 
other  {invention),  and  the  result  is  an  image  of  great  vivid- 
ness, which  has  perhaps  no  corresponding  reality  in  the 
external  world. 

S^.  Minds  differ  in  the  vividness  with  which  they  recall 
the  elements  of  previous  experience,  and  mentally  see  the 
absent  objects ;  they  differ  also  in  the  aptitudes  for  selec- 
tion, abstraction,  and  recombination :  the  fine  selective 
instinct  of  the  artist,  which  makes  him  fasten  upon  the 
details  which  will  most  powerfully  affect  us,  without  any 
disturbance  of  the  harmony  of  the  general  impression,  does 
not  depend  solely  upon  the  vividness  of  his  memory  and 
the  clearness  with  which  the  objects  are  seen,  but  depends 
also  upon  very  complex  and  peculiar  conditions  of  sympathy 
which  we  call  genius.  Hence  we  find  one  man  remembering 
a  multitude  of  details,  with  a  memory  so  vivid  that  it  al- 
most amounts  at  times  to  hallucination,  yet  without  any 


80  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature, 

artistic  power ;  and  we  may  find  men  —  Blake  was  one  — 
with  an  imagination  of  unusual  activity,  who  are  neverthe- 
less incapable,  from  deficient  sympathy,  of  seizing  upon 
those  symbols  which  will  most  affect  us.^  Our  native  sus- 
ceptibilities and  acquired  tastes  determine  which  of  the 
many  qualities  in  an  object  shall  most  impress  us,  and  be 
most  clearly  recalled.  One  man  remembers  the  combusti- 
ble properties  of  a  substance,  which  to  another  is  memora- 
ble for  its  xjolarising  property ;  to  one  man  a  stream  is  so 
much  water-power,  to  another  a  rendezvous  for  lovers. 

89.  In  the  close  of  the  last  paragraph  we  came  face  to 
face  with  the  great  difficulty  which  constantly  arrests  spec- 
ulation on  these  matters  —  the  existence  of  special  apti- 
tudes vaguely  characterised  as  genius.  These  are  obviously 
incommunicable.  No  recipe  can  be  given  for  genius.  No 
man  can  be  taught  how  to  exercise  the  power  of  imagina- 
tion. But  he  can  be  taught  how  to  aid  it,  and  how  to 
assure  himself  whether  he  is  using  it  or  not.  Having  once 
laid  hold  of  the  Principle  of  Vision  as  a  fundamental  prin- 
ciple of  Art,  he  can  always  thus  far  apply  it,  that  he  can 
assure  himself  whether  he  does  or  does  not  distinctly  see 
the  cottage  he  is  describing,  the  rivulet  that  is  gurgling 
through  his  verses,  or  the  character  he  is  painting ;  he  can 
assure  himself  whether  he  hears  the  voice  of  the  speakers, 
and  feels  that  what  they  say  is  true  to  their  natures ;    he 

1  Swinburne's  criticism  of  Blake's  illustrations  to  Dante's  '  Inferno ' 
brings  out  clearly  this  defect  of  Blake's  genius.  "Blake  has  thoroughly- 
understood  and  given  back  the  physical  symbols  of  this  first  punishment  in 
Dante ;  the  whirling  motion  of  his  figures  has,  however,  more  of  blind 
violence  and  brute  speed  than  the  text  seems  to  indicate.  They  are  dashed 
and  dragged,  one  upon  another  . .  .  not  moved  as  we  expect  to  see  them,  in 
sad  rapidity  of  stately  measure  and  even  time  of  speed.  The  flame-like 
impulse  of  idea,  natural  to  Blake,  cannot  absolutely  match  itself  against 
Dante's  divine  justice  and  intense  innate  forbearance  in  detail;  nor  so 
comprehend,  as  by  dint  of  reproduction  to  compete  with,  that  supreme 
sense  of  inward  and  outward  right  which  rules  and  attunes  every  word  of 
the  Commedia."  —  '  William  Blake,'  p.  75. 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  81 

can  assure  himself  whether  he  sees,  as  in  actual  experience, 
the  emotion  he  is  depicting;  and  he  will  know  that  if  he 
does  not  see  these  things  he  must  wait  until  he  can,  or  he 
will  paint  them  ineffectively.  With  distinct  Vision  he  will 
be  able  to  make  the  best  use  of  his  powers  of  expression ; 
and  the  most  splendid  powers  of  expression  will  not  avail 
him  if  his  Vision  be  indistinct.  This  is  true  of  objects  that 
never  were  seen  by  the  eye,  that  never  could  be  seen.  It  is 
as  true  of  what  are  called  the  highest  flights  of  imagination 
as  of  the  lowest  flights.  The  mind  must  see  the  angel  or 
the  demon,  the  hippogriff  or  centaur,  the  pixie  or  the  mer- 
maid. 

90.  Ruskin  notices  ^  how  repeatedly  Turner,  —  the  most 
imaginative  of  landscape  painters,  —  introduced  into  his 
pictures,  after  a  lapse  of  many  years,  memories  of  some- 
thing which,  however  small  and  unimportant,  had  struck 
him  in  his  earlier  studies.  He  believes  that  all  Turner's 
"composition"  was  an  arrangement  of  remembrances  sum- 
moned just  as  they  were  wanted,  and  each  in  its  fittest 
place.  His  vision  was  primarily  composed  of  strong  mem- 
ory of  the  place  itself,  and  secondarily  of  memories  of  other 
places  associated  in  a  harmonious,  helpful  way  with  the 
now  central  thought.     He  recalled  and  selected. 

91.  I  am  prepared  to  hear  of  many  readers,  especially 
young  readers,  protesting  against  the  doctrine  of  this  chap- 
ter as  prosaic.  They  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to 
consider  imagination  as  peculiarly  distinguished  by  its  dis- 
dain of  reality,  and  Invention  as  only  admirable  when  its 
products  are  not  simply  new  by  selection  and  arrangement, 
but  new  m  material,  that  they  will  reject  the  idea  of 
involuntary  remembrance  of  something  originally  experi- 
enced as  the  basis  of  all  Art.  Ruskin  says  of  great  artists, 
"  Imagine  all  that  any  of  these  men  had  seen  or  heard  in 

1  *  Modern  Painters,'  IV.,  Chap.  II.,  Sect.  16. 


82  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

the  whole  course  of  their  lives,  laid  up  accurately  in  their 
memories  as  in  vast  storehouses,  extending,  with  the  poets 
even  to  the  slightest  intonations  of  syllables  heard  in  the 
beginning  of  their  lives,  and  with  the  painters,  down  to 
minute  folds  of  drapery,  and  shapes  of  leaves  or  stones  ; 
and  over  all  this  unindexed  and  immeasurable  mass  of 
treasure,  the  imagination  brooding  and  wandering,  but 
dream-gifted,  so  as  to  summon  at  any  moment  exactly  such 
groups  of  ideas  as  shall  justly  fit  each  other."  ^  This  is  the 
explanation  of  their  genius,  as  far  as  it  can  be  explained. 

92.  Genius  is  rarely  able  to  give  any  account  of  its  own 
processes.  But  those  who  have  had  ample  opportunities  of 
intimately  knowing  the  growth  of  works  in  the  minds  of 
artists,  will  bear  me  out  in  saying  that  a  vivid  memory  sup- 
plies the  elements  from  a  thousand  different  sources,  most 
of  which  are  quite  beyond  the  power  of  localisation,  —  the 
experience  of  yesterday  being  strangely  intermingled  with 
the  dim  suggestions  of  early  years,  the  tones  heard  in  child- 
hood sounding  through  the  diapason  of  sorrowing  maturity ; 
and  all  these  kaleidoscopic  fragments  are  recomposed  into 
images  that  seem  to  have  a  corresponding  reality  of  their 
own. 

V.    Idealism  and  Realism. 

93.  As  all  Art  depends  on  Vision,  so  the  different  kinds 
of  Art  depend  on  the  different  ways  in  which  minds  look 
at  things.  The  painter  can  only  put  into  his  pictures  what 
he  see  in  Nature ;  and  what  he  sees  will  be  different  from 
what  another  sees.  A  poetical  mind  sees  noble  and  affect- 
ing suggestions  in  details  which  the  prosaic  mind  will  inter- 
pret prosaically.  And  the  true  meaning  of  Idealism  is 
precisely  this  vision  of  realities  in  their  highest  and  most 
affecting  forms,  not  in  the  vision  of  something  removed 

1  'Modern  Painters,'  IV.,  Chap.  II.,  Sect.  17. 


Of  Vision  in  Art.  83 

from  or  opposed  to  realities.  Titian's  grand  picture  of 
'  Peter  the  Martyr '  is,  perhaps,  as  instructive  an  example 
as  could  be  chosen  of  successful  Idealism ;  because  in  it  we 
have  a  marvelous  presentation  of  reality  as  seen  by  a  poetic 
mind.  The  figure  of  the  flying  monk  might  have  been 
equally  real  if  it  had  been  an  ignoble  presentation  of  terror 
—  the  superb  tree,  which  may  almost  be  called  an  actor  in 
the  drama,  might  have  been  painted  with  even  greater 
minuteness,  though  not  perhaps  with  equal  effect  upon  us, 
if  it  had  arrested  our  attention  by  its  details  —  the  dying 
martyr  and  the  noble  assassin  might  have  been  made  equally 
real  in  more  vulgar  types  —  but  the  triumph  achieved  by 
Titian  is  that  the  mind  is  filled  with  a  vision  of  poetic 
beauty  which  is  felt  to  be  real.^  An  equivalent  reality,  with- 
out the  ennobling  beauty,  would  have  made  the  picture  a 
fine  piece  of  realistic  art.  It  is  because  of  this  poetic  way 
of  seeing  things  that  one  painter  will  give  a  faithful  repre- 
sentation of  a  very  common  scene  which  shall  nevertheless 
affect  all  sensitive  minds  as  ideal,  whereas  another  painter 
will  represent  the  same  with  no  greater  fidelity,  but  with 
a  complete  absence  of  poetry.  The  greater  the  fidelity,  the 
greater  will  be  the  merit  of  each  representation ;  for  if  a 
man  pretends  to  represent  an  object,  he  pretends  to  repre- 
sent it  accurately :  the  only  difference  is  what  the  poetical 
or  prosaic  mind  sees  in  the  object. 

94.  Of  late  years  there  has  been  a  reaction  against  con- 
ventionalism which  called  itself  Idealism,  in  favour  of  detail- 
ism  which  calls  itself  Kealism.  As  a  reaction  it  has  been 
of  service  ;  but  it  has  led  to  much  false  criticism,  and  not 
a  little  false  art,  by  an  obtrusiveness  of  Detail  and  a  prefer- 
ence for  the  Familiar,  under  the  misleading  notion  of  ad- 
herence to  Nature.  If  the  words  Nature  and  Natural 
could  be  entirely  banished  from  language  about  Art  there 

1  A  reproduction  of  the  painting  will  be  found  in  Heath's  '  Titian '  (opp. 
p.  44). 


84  The  Prhicij^Ies  of  Success  m  Literature. 

would  be  some  chance  of  coming  to  a  rational  x^liilosophy 
of  the  subject ;  at  present  the  excessive  vagueness  and 
shiftiness  of  these  terms  cover  any  amount  of  sophism. 
The  pots  and  pans  of  Teniers  and  Yan  Mieris  are  natural ; 
the  passions  and  humours  of  Shakspeare  and  Moliere  are 
natural ;  the  angels  of  Fra  Angelico  and  Luini  are  natural ; 
the  Sleeping  Fawn  and  Fates  of  Phidias  are  natural ;  the 
cows  and  misty  marshes  of  Cuyp  and  the  vacillations  of 
Hamlet  are  equally  natural.  In  fact  the  natural  means 
truth  of  kind.  Each  kind  of  character,  each  kind  of  repre- 
sentation, must  be  judged  by  itself.  Whereas  the  vulgar 
error  of  criticism  is  to  judge  of  one  kind  by  another,  and 
generally  to  judge  the  higher  by  the  lower,  to  remonstrate 
with  Hamlet  for  not  having  the  speech  and  manner  of  Mr. 
Jones,  to  wish  that  Fra  Angelico  could  have  seen  with  the 
eyes  of  the  Carracci,  to  wish  verse  had  been  prose,  and  that 
ideal  tragedy  were  acted  with  the  easy  manner  acceptable  in 
drawing-rooms. 

95.  The  rage  for  "  realism,"  which  is  healthy  in  as  far  as 
it  insists  on  truth,  has  become  unhealthy,  in  as  far  as  it 
confounds  truth  with  familiarity,  and  predominance  of 
unessential  details.  There  are  other  truths  besides  coats 
and  waistcoats,  pots  and  pans,  drawing-rooms  and  suburban 
villas.^  Life  has  other  aims  besides  those  which  occupy 
the  conversation  of  "  Society."  And  the  painter  who  de- 
votes years  to  a  work  representing  modern  life,  yet  calls 
for  even  more  attention  to  a  waistcoat  than  to  the  face  of 
a  philosopher,  may  exhibit  truth  of  detail  Avhich  will  delight 
the  tailor- mind,  but  he  is  defective  in  artistic  truth,  because 
he  ought  to  be  representing  something  higher  than  waist- 
coats, and  because  our  thoughts  on  modern  life  fall  very 
casually  and  without  emphasis  on  waistcoats.  In  Piloty's 
much-admired  picture  of  the  'Death  of  Wallenstein'   (at 

1  Cf.  Lewes's  article,  *  Realism  iu  Art,'  published  iu  the  Westminster 
Bevieio  for  October,  1858. 


Of  Vision  m  Art.  85 

Munich),  the  truth  with  which  the  carpet,  the  velvet,  and 
all  other  accessories  are  painted,  is  certainly  remarkable  ; 
but  the  falsehood  of  giving  prominence  to  such  details  in  a 
picture  representing  the  dead  Wallenstein  —  as  if  they  were 
the  objects  which  could  possibly  arrest  our  attention  and 
excite  our  sympathies  in  such  a  spectacle  —  is  a  falsehood 
of  the  realistic  school.  If  a  man  means  to  paint  upholstery, 
by  all  means  let  him  paint  it  so  as  to  delight  and  deceive  an 
upholsterer ;  but  if  he  means  to  paint  a  human  tragedy,  the 
upholsterer  must  be  subordinate,  and  velvet  must  not  draw 
our  eyes  away  from  faces. ^ 

96.  I  have  digressed  a  little  from  my  straight  route  be- 
cause I  wish  to  guard  the  Principle  of  Vision  from  certain 
misconceptions  which  might  arise  on  a  simple  statement  of 
it.  The  principle  insists  on  the  artist  assuring  himself  that 
he  distinctly  sees  what  he  attempts  to  represent.  What  he 
sees,  and  lioiv  he  represents  it,  depend  on  other  principles. 
To  make  even  this  principle  of  Vision  thoroughly  intelli- 
gible in  its  application  to  all  forms  of  Literature  and  Art, 
it  must  be  considered  in  connection  with  the  two  other 
principles  —  Sincerity  and  Beauty,  which  are  involved  in 
all  successful  works.  In  the  next  chapter  we  shall  treat  of 
Sincerity. 

1  Cf.  Lewes's  'Life  of  Goethe,'  Vol.  I.,  pp.  240-267;  Everett's  'Poetry, 
Comedy,  and  Duty,'  pp.  88-97;  Dewey's  'Psychology,'  pp.  312-313;  Sted- 
man's  '  Victorian  Poets,'  pp.  11-32. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   PRINCIPLE    OF    SINCERITY, 
i.    Literature  and  the  Public. 

97.  It  is  always  understood  as  an  expression  of  condem- 
nation when  anything  in  Literature  or  Art  is  said  to  be 
done  for  effect ;  and  yet  to  produce  an  effect  is  the  aim  and 
end  of  both. 

98.  There  is  nothing  beyond  a  verbal  ambiguity  here  if 
we  look  at  it  closely,  and  yet  there  is  a  corresponding  uncer- 
tainty in  the  conception  of  Literature  and  Art  commonly 
entertained,  which  leads  many  writers  and  many  critics  into 
the  belief  that  what  are  called  "  effects  "  should  be  sought, 
and  when  found  must  succeed.  It  is  desirable  to  clear  up 
this  moral  ambiguity,  as  I  may  call  it,  and  to  show  that  the 
real  method  of  securing  the  legitimate  effect  is  not  to  aim 
at  it,  but  to  aim  at  the  truth,  relying  on  that  for  securing 
effect.  The  condemnation  of  whatever  is  "  done  for  effect " 
obviously  springs  from  indignation  at  a  disclosed  insincerity 
in  the  artist,  who  is  self-convicted  of  having  neglected  truth 
for  the  sake  of  our  applause ;  and  we  refuse  our  applause 
to  the  flatterer,  or  give  it  contemptuously  as  to  a  mounte- 
bank whose  dexterity  has  amused  us. 

99.  It  is  unhappily  true  that  much  insincere  Literature 
and  Art,  executed  solely  with  a  view^  to  effect,  does  succeed 
by  deceiving  the  public.  But  this  is  only  because  the  simu- 
lation of  truth  or  the  blindness  of  the  public  conceals  the 
insincerity.  As  a  maxim,  the  Princij^le  of  Sincerity  is 
admitted.  Nothing  but  what  is  true,  or  is  held  to  be  true, 
can  succeed ;  anything  which  looks  like  insincerity  is  con- 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity,  87. 

demned.  In  this  respect  we  may  compare  it  with  the 
maxim  of  Honesty  the  best  policy.  No  far-reaching  intel- 
lect fails  to  perceive  that  if  all  men  were  uniformly  upright 
and  truthful,  Life  would  be  more  victorious,  and  Literature 
more  noble.  We  find,  however,  both  in  Life  and  Litera- 
ture, a  practical  disregard  of  the  truth  of  these  proposi- 
tions almost  equivalent  to  a  disbelief  in  them.  Many  men 
are  keenly  alive  to  the  social  advantages  of  honesty  —  in 
the  practice  of  others.  They  are  also  strongly  impressed 
with  the  conviction  that  in  their  own  particular  case  the 
advantage  will  sometimes  lie  in  not  strictly  adhering  to  the 
rule.  Honesty  is  doubtless  the  best  policy  in  the  long  run; 
but  somehow  the  run  here  seems  so  very  long,  and  a  short- 
cut opens  such  allurements  to  impatient  desire.  It  requires 
a  firm  calm  insight,  or  a  noble  habit  of  thought,  to  steady 
the  wavering  mind,  and  direct  it  away  from  delusive  short- 
cuts :  to  make  belief  practice,  and  forego  immediate  triumph. 
Many  of  those  who  unhesitatingly  admit  Sincerity  to  be 
one  great  condition  of  success  in  Literature  find  it  difficult, 
and  often  impossible,  to  resist  the  temptation  of  an  insin- 
cerity which  promises  immediate  advantage.  It  is  not  only 
the  grocers  who  sand  their  sugar  before  prayers.  Writers 
who  know  well  enough  that  the  triumph  of  falsehood  is  an 
unholy  triumph,  are  not  deterred  from  falsehood  by  that 
knowledge.  They  know,  perhaps,  that,  even  if  undetected, 
it  will  press  on  their  own  consciences ;  but  the  knowledge 
avails  them  little.  The  immediate  pressure  of  the  tempta- 
tion is  yielded  to,  and  Sincerity  remains  a  text  to  be 
preached  to  others.  To  gain  applause  they  will  misstate 
facts,  to  gain  victory  in  argument  they  will  misrepresent 
the  opinions  they  oppose  ;  and  they  suppress  the  rising  mis- 
givings by  the  dangerous  sophism  that  to  discredit  error  is 
good  work,  and  by  the  hope  that  no  one  will  detect  the 
means  by  which  the  work  is  effected.  The  saddest  aspect 
of  this  procedure  is  that. in  Literature,  as  in  Life,  a  tempo- 


88  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

rary  success  often  does  re^^ard  dishonesty.  It  would  be 
insincere  to  conceal  it.  To  gain  a  reputation  as  discoverers 
men  will  invent  or  suppress  facts.  To  appear  learned,  tliey 
will  array  tlieir  writings  in  the  ostentation  of  borrowed 
citations.  To  solicit  the  "  sweet  voices  "  of  the  crowd,  they 
will  feign  sentiments  they  do  not  feel,  and  utter  what  the}^ 
think  the  crowd  will  wish  to  hear,  keeping  back  whatever 
the  crowd  will  hear  with  disapproval.  And,  as  I  said,  such 
men  often  succeed  for  a  time ;  the  fact  is  so,  and  we  must 
not  pretend  that  it  is  otherwise.  But  it  no  more  disturbs 
the  fundamental  truth  of  the  Principle  of  Sincerity  than 
the  perturbations  in  the  orbit  of  Mars  disturb  the  truth  of 
Kepler's  law. 

100.  It  is  impossible  to  deny  that  dishonest  men  often 
grow  rich  and  famous,  becoming  powerful  in  their  parish  or 
in  parliament.  Their  portraits  simper  from  shop  windows  ; 
and  they  live  and  die  respected.  This  success  is  theirs ; 
yet  it  is  not  the  success  which  a  noble  soul  will  envy. 
Apart  from  the  risk  of  discovery  and  infamy,  there  is  the 
certainty  of  a  conscience  ill  at  ease,  or  if  at  ease,  so  blunted 
in  its  sensibilities,  so  given  over  to  lower  lusts,  that  a 
healthy  instinct  recoils  from  such  a  state.  Observe,  more- 
over, that  in  Literature  the  jjossible  rewards  of  dishonesty 
are  small,  and  the  probability  of  detection  great.  In  Life 
a  dishonest  man  is  chiefly  moved  by  desires  towards  some 
tangible  result  of  money  or  power ;  if  he  get  these  he  has 
got  all.  The  man  of  letters  has  a  higher  aim;  the  very 
object  of  his  toil  is  to  secure  the  sympathy  and  respect  of 
men ;  and  the  rewards  of  his  toil  may  be  paid  in  money, 
fame,  or  consciousness  of  earnest  effort.  The  first  of  these 
may  sometimes  be  gained  Avithout  Sincerity.  Fame  may 
also,  for  a  time,  be  erected  on  an  unstable  ground,  though 
it  will  inevitably  be  destroyed  again.  But  the  last  and  not 
least  reward  is  to  be  gained  by  every  one  without  fear  of 
failure,  without  risk  of  change.    Sincere  work  is  good  work, 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity.  89 

be  it  never  so  humble ;  and  sincere  work  is  not  only  an 
indestructible  delight  to  the  worker  by  its  very  genuine- 
ness, but  is  immortal  in  the  best  sense,  for  it  lives  for  ever 
in  its  influence.  There  is  no  good  Dictionary,  not  even  a 
good  Index,  that  is  not  in  this  sense  priceless,  for  it  has 
honestly  furthered  the  work  of  the  world,  saving  labour  to 
others,  setting  an  example  to  successors.  Whether  I  make 
a  careful  Index,  or  an  inaccurate  one,  will  probably  in  no 
respect  affect  the  money-payment  I  shall  receive.  My  sins 
will  never  fall  heavily  on  me  ;  my  virtue  will  gain  me 
neither  extra  pence  nor  praise.  I  shall  be  hidden  by 
obscurity  from  the  indignation  of  those  whose  valuable 
time  is  wasted  over  my  pretence  at  accuracy,  as  from  the 
silent  gratitude  of  those  whose  time  is  saved  by  my  honest 
fidelity.  The  consciousness  of  faithfulness  even  to  the  poor 
index  maker  may  be  a  better  reward  than  pence  or  praise ; 
but  of  course  we  cannot  expect  the  unconscientious  to 
believe  this.  If  I  sand  my  sugar,  and  tell  lies  over  my 
counter,  I  may  gain  the  rewards  of  dishonesty,  or  I  may  be 
overtaken  by  its  Nemesis.  But  if  I  am  faithful  in  my 
work  the  reward  cannot  be  withheld  from  me.  The  obscure 
workers  who,  knowing  that  they  will  never  earn  renown  yet 
feel  an  honourable  pride  in  doing  their  work  faithfully,  may 
be  likened  to  the  benevolent  who  feel  a  noble  delight  in 
performing  generous  actions  which  will  never  be  known  to 
be  theirs,  fhe  only  end  they  seek  in  such  actions  being  the 
good  which  is  wrought  for  others,  and  their  delight  being 
the  sympathy  with  others. 

101.  I  should  be  ashamed  to  insist  on  truths  so  little 
likely  to  be  disputed,  did  they  not  point  directly  at  the 
great  source  of  bad  Literature,  Avhich,  as  was  said  in  our 
first  chapter,  springs  from  a  want  of  proper  moral  guidance 
rather  than  from  deficiency  of  talent.  The  Principle  of 
Sincerity  comprises  all  those  qualities  of  courage,  patience, 
honesty,  and  simplicity  wliich  give  momentum  to  talent,  and 


90  The  Principles  of  Success  m  Literature, 

determine  successful  Literature.  It  is  not  enough  to  have 
the  eye  to  see ;  there  must  also  be  the  courage  to  express 
what  the  eye  has  seen,  and  the  steadfastness  of  a  trust  in 
truth.  Insight,  imagination,  grace  of  style  are  potent ;  but 
their  power  is  delusive  unless  sincerely  guided.  If  any  one 
should  object  that  this  is  a  truism,  the  answer  is  ready : 
Writers  disregard  its  truth,  as  traders  disregard  the  truism 
of  honesty  being  the  best  policy.  Nay,  as  even  the  most 
upright  men  are  occasionally  liable  to  swerve  from  the 
truth,  so  the  most  upright  authors  will  in  some  passages 
desert  a  perfect  sincerity ;  yet  the  ideal  of  both  is  rigorous 
truth.  Men  who  are  never  flagrantly  dishonest  are  at  times 
unveracious  in  small  matters,  colouring  or  su]3pressing  facts 
with  a  conscious  purpose ;  and  writers  who  never  stole  an 
idea  nor  pretended  to  honours  for  which  they  had  not 
striven,  may  be  found  lapsing  into  small  insincerities, 
speaking  a  language  which  is  not  theirs,  uttering  opinions 
which  they  expect  to  gain  applause  rather  than  the  opin- 
ions really  believed  by  them.  But  if  few  men  are  perfectly 
and  persistently  sincere,  Sincerity  is  nevertheless  the  only 
enduring  strength. 

102.  The  principle  is  universal,  stretching  from  the  high- 
est purposes  of  Literature  down  to  its  smallest  details.  It 
underlies  the  labour  of  the  philosopher,  the  investigator, 
the  moralist,  the  poet,  the  novelist,  the  critic,  the  historian, 
and  the  compiler.  It  is  visible  in  the  publication  of  opin- 
ions, in  the  structure  of  sentences,  and  in  the  fidelity  of 
citations.  Men  utter  insincere  thoughts,  they  express  them- 
selves in  echoes  and  affectations,  and  they  are  careless  or 
dishonest  in  their  use  of  the  labours  of  others,  all  the  time 
believing  in  the  virtue  of  sincerity,  all  the  time  trying  to 
make  others  believe  honesty  to  be  the  best  policy. 

103.  Let  us  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  most  important 
applications  of  the  principle.  A  man  must  be  himself  con- 
vinced if  he  is  to  convince  others.     The  prophet  must  be 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity.  91 

his  own  disciple,  or  he  will  make  none.  Enthusiasm  is 
contagious:  belief  creates  belief.  There  is  no  influence 
issuing  from  unbelief  or  from  languid  acquiescence.  This 
is  peculiarly  noticeable  in  Art,  because  Art  depends  on 
sympathy  for  its  influence,  and  unless  the  artist  has  felt 
the  emotions  he  depicts  we  remain  unmoved :  in  proportion 
to  the  depth  of  his  feeling  is  our  sympathetic  response ;  in 
proportion  to  the  shallowness  or  falsehood  of  his  presenta- 
tion is  our  coldness  or  indifference.  Many  writers  who 
have  been  fond  of  quoting  the  si  vis  me  Jlere  ^  of  Horace 
have  written  as  if  they  did  not  believe  a  word  of  it;  for 
they  have  been  silent  on  their  own  convictions,  suppressed 
their  own  experience,  and  falsified  their  own  feelings  to 
repeat  the  convictions  and  fine  phrases  of  another.  I  am 
sorry  that  my  experience  assures  me  that  many  of  those 
who  will  read  with  complete  assent  all  here  written  respect- 
ing the  power  of  Sincerity,  will  basely  desert  their  alle- 
giance to  the  truth  the  next  time  they  begin  to  write ;  and 
they  will  desert  it  because  their  misguided  views  of  Litera- 
ture prompt  them  to  think  more  of  what  the  public  is  likely 
to  applaud  than  of  what  is  worth  applause ;  unfortunately 
for  them  their  estimation  of  this  likelihood  is  generally 
based  on  a  very  erroneous  assumption  of  public  wants : 
they  grossly  mistake  the  taste  they  pander  to. 

ii.    The  Value  of  Sincerity. 

104.  In  all  sincere  speech  there  is  power,  not  necessarily 
great  power,  but  as  much  as  the  speaker  is  capable  of. 
Speak  for  yourself  and  from  yourself,  or  be  silent.  It  can 
be  of  no  good  that  you  should  tell  in  your  "  clever  "  feeble 
way  what  another  has  already  told  us  with  the  dynamic 

1 '  De  Arte  Poetica,'  1.  102.  '*  If  you  wish  me  to  weep,  you  must  yourself 
grieve  first."  See  the  Critic  for  March  24  and  March  31,  1888,  for  a  dis- 
cussion of  this  maxim. 


92  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

energy  of  conviction.  If  you  can  tell  us  something  that 
your  own  eyes  have  seen,  your  own  mind  has  thought,  your 
own  heart  has  felt,  you  will  have  power  over  us,  and  all  the 
real  power  that  is  possible  for  you.  If  what  you  have  seen 
is  trivial,  if  what  you  have  thought  is  erroneous,  if  what 
you  have  felt  is  feeble,  it  would  assuredly  be  better  that 
you  should  not  speak  at  all ;  but  if  you  insist  on  speaking 
Sincerity  will  secure  the  uttermost  of  power. 

105.  The  delusions  of  self-love  cannot  be  prevented,  but 
intellectual  misconceptions  as  to  the  means  of  achieving 
success  may  be  corrected.  Thus  although  it  may  not  be 
possible  for  any  introspection  to  discover  whether  we  have 
genius  or  effective  power,  it  is  quite  possible  to  know 
whether  we  are  trading  upon  borrowed  capital,  and  whether 
the  eagle's  feathers  have  been  picked  up  by  us,  or  grow 
from  our  own  wings.  I  hear  some  one  of  my  young  readers 
exclaim  against  the  disheartening  tendency  of  what  is  here 
said.  Ambitious  of  success,  and  conscious  that  he  has  no 
great  resources  within  his  own  experience,  he  shrinks  from 
the  idea  of  being  thrown  upon  his  naked  faculty  and  limited 
resources,  when  he  feels  himself  capable  of  dexterously 
using  the  resources  of  others,  and  so  producing  an  effective 
work.  "  Why,"  he  asks,  "  must  I  confine  myself  to  my  own 
small  experience,  when  I  feel  persuaded  that  it  will  interest 
no  one  ?  Why  express  the  opinions  to  which  my  own 
investigations  have  led  me  when  I  suspect  that  they  are 
incomplete,  perhaps  altogether  erroneous,  and  when  I  know 
that  they  will  not  be  popular  because  they  are  unlike  those 
which  have  hitherto  found  favour  ?  Your  restrictions  would 
reduce  two-thirds  of  our  writers  to  silence  ! " 

106.  This  reduction  would,  I  suspect,  be  welcomed  by 
every  one  except  the  gagged  writers  ;  but  as  the  idea  of  its 
being  operative  is  too  chimerical  for  us  to  entertain  it,  and 
as  the  purpose  of  these  pages  is  to  expound  the  principles 
of  success  and  failure,  not  to  make  Quixotic  onslaughts  on 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity.  93 

the  windmills  of  stupidity  and  conceit,  I  answer  my  young 
interrogator :  ''  Take  warning  and  do  not  write.  Unless 
you  believe  in  yourself,  only  noodles  will  believe  in  you, 
and  they  but  tepidly.  If  your  experience  seems  trivial  to 
you,  it  must  seem  trivial  to  us.  If  your  thoughts  are  not 
fervid  convictions,  or  sincere  doubts,  they  will  not  have  the 
power  of  convictions  and  doubts.  To  believe  in  yourself  is 
the  first  step ;  to  proclaim  your  belief  the  next.  You  can- 
not assume  the  power  of  another.  No  jay  becomes  an  eagle 
by  borrowing  a  few  eagle  feathers.  It  is  true  that  your 
sincerity  will  not  be  a  guarantee  of  power.  You  may  be- 
lieve that  to  be  important  and  novel  which  we  all  recognise 
as  trivial  and  old.  You  may  be  a  madman,  and  believe 
yourself  a  prophet.  You  may  be  a  mere  echo,  and  believe 
yourself  a  voice.  These  are  among  the  delusions  against 
which  none  of  us  are  protected.  But  if  Sincerity  is  not 
necessarily  a  guarantee  of  power,  it  is  a  necessary  condition 
of  power,  and  no  genius  or  prophet  can  exist  without  it." 

107.  "  The  highest  merit  we  ascribe  to  Moses,  Plato,  and 
Milton,"  says  Emerson,^  "  is  that  they  set  at  nought  books 
and  traditions,  and  spoke  not  what  men  thought,  but  what 
they  thought.  A  man  should  learn  to  detect  and  watch 
that  gleam  of  light  Avhich  flashes  across  his  mind  from 
within ;  more  than  the  lustre  of  the  firmament  of  bards  and 
sages.  Yet  he  dismisses  without  notice  his  thought  because 
it  is  his.  In  every  work  of  genius  we  recognise  our  own 
rejected  thoughts;  they  come  back  to  us  with  a  certain 
alienated  majesty."  It  is  strange  that  any  one  who  has 
recognised  the  individuality  of  all  works  of  lasting  influence, 
should  not  also  recognise  the  fact  that  his  own  individualit}^ 
ought  to  be  steadfastly  preserved.^  As  Emerson  says  in 
continuation,  "  Great  works  of  art  have  no  more  affecting 

1  Essay  on  '  Self-Reliance.' 

2  "Individuality  of  expression  is  the  beginning  and  end  of  all  art." 
—  Goethe,  '  Spriiche  in  Prosa,'  Kunst,  VI. 


94  The  Princiioles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

lesson  for  us  than  this.  They  teach  ns  to  abide  by  our 
spontaneous  impressions  with  good-humoured  inflexibility, 
then  most  when  the  whole  cry  of  voices  is  on  the  other 
side.  Else  to-morrow  a  stranger  will  say  with  masterly 
good  sense,  precisely  what  we  have  thought  and  felt  all  the 
time,  and  we  shall  be  forced  to  take  with  shame  our  opinion 
from  another."  Accepting  the  opinions  of  another  and  the 
tastes  of  another  is  very  different  from  agreement  in  opinion 
and  taste.  Originality  is  independence,  not  rebellion  ;  it  is 
sincerity,  not  antagonism.  Whatever  you  believe  to  be  true 
and  false,  that  proclaim  to  be  true  and  false  ;  whatever  you 
think  admirable  and  beautiful,  that  should  be  joiu  model, 
even  if  all  your  friends  and  all  the  critics  storm  at  you  as  a 
crotchet-monger  and  an  eccentric.  Whether  the  public  will 
feel  its  truth  and  beauty  at  once,  or  after  long  years,  or 
never  cease  to  regard  it  as  paradox  and  ugliness,  no  man 
can  foresee ;  enough  for  you  to  know  that  you  have  done 
your  best,  have  been  true  to  yourself,  and  that  the  utmost 
power  inherent  in  your  work  has  been  displayed. 

108.  An  orator  whose  purpose  is  to  persuade  men  must 
speak  the  things  they  wish  to  hear  ;  an  orator,  whose  pur- 
pose is  to  move  men,  must  also  avoid  disturbing  the  emo- 
tional effect  by  any  obtrusion  of  intellectual  antagonism  ; 
but  an  author  whose  purpose  is  to  instruct  men,  who  ap- 
peals to  the  intellect,  must  be  careless  of  their  opinions, 
and  think  only  of  truth. ^  It  will  often  be  a  question  when 
a  man  is  or  is  not  wise  in  advancing  unpalatable  opinions, 
or  in  preaching  heresies ;    but  it  can  never  be  a  question 

1  It  may  be  questioned  whether  this  distinction  of  oratory  from  Litera- 
ture is  not  commonly  over-emphasized.  An  orator,  it  may  be  safely  said, 
who  thinks  more  of  his  audience  than  he  does  of  the  truth,  is  a  bad  orator ; 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  an  author  who  flings  the  truth  insolently  in  the 
reader's  face,  is  an  ill-mannered  author.  A  decent  respect  for  the  opinions 
of  mankind  is  as  appropriate  in  the  one  case  as  in  the  other,  and  in  both 
the  Principle  of  Sincerity  —  a  wise,  courteous,  and  rational  Sincerity  — 
should  be  supreme. 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity/,  95 

that  a  man  should  be  silent  if  unprepared  to  speak  the 
truth  as  he  conceives  it.  Deference  to  popular  opinion  is 
one  great  source  of  bad  writing,  and  is  all  the  more  disas- 
trous because  the  deference  is  paid  to  some  purely  hypo- 
thetical requirement.  When  a  man  fails  to  see  the  truth 
of  certain  generally  accepted  views,  there  is  no  law  compel- 
ling him  to  provoke  animosity  by  announcing  his  dissent. 
He  may  be  excused  if  he  shrink  from  the  lurid  glory  of 
martyrdom ;  he  may  be  justified  in  not  placing  himself  in 
a  position  of  singularity.  He  may  even  be  commended  for 
not  helping  to  perplex  mankind  with  doubts  which  he  feels 
to  be  founded  on  limited  and  possibly  erroneous  investiga- 
tion. But  if  allegiance  to  truth  lays  no  stern  command 
upon  him  to  speak  out  his  immature  dissent,  it  does  lay  a 
stern  command  not  to  speak  out  hypocritical  assent.  There 
are  many  justifications  of  silence  ;  there  can  be  none  of 
insincerity. 

109.  Nor  is  this  less  true  of  minor  questions  ;  it  applies 
equally  to  opinions  on  matters  of  taste  and  personal  feeling. 
Why  should  I  echo  what  seem  to  me  the  extravagant  praises 
of  Raphael's  'Transfiguration,'  when,  in  truth,  I  do  not 
greatly  admire  that  famous  work  ?  There  is  no  necessity 
for  me  to  speak  on  the  subject  at  all ;  but  if  I  do  speak, 
surely  it  is  to  utter  my  impressions,  and  not  to  repeat  what 
others  have  uttered.  Here,  then,  is  a  dilemma;  if  I  say 
what  I  really  feel  about  this  work,  after  vainly  endeavouring 
day  after  day  to  discover  the  transcendent  merits  discovered 
by  thousands  (or  at  least  proclaimed  by  them),  there  is 
every  likelihood  of  my  incurring  the  contempt  of  connois- 
seurs, and  of  being  reproached  with  want  of  taste  in  art. 
This  is  the  bugbear  which  scares  thousands.  For  myself,  I 
would  rather  incur  the  contempt  of  connoisseurs  than  my 
own  ;  the  reproach  of  defective  taste  is  more  endurable  than 
the  reproach  of  insincerity.  Suppose  I  am  deficient  in  the 
requisite  knowledge  and  sensibility,  shall  I  be  less  so  by 


96  The  Prmciples  of  Success  in  Literature. 

pretending  to  admire  what  really  gives  me  no  exquisite 
enjoyment  ?  Will  the  pleasure  I  feel  in  pictures  be  en- 
hanced because  other  men  consider  me  right  in  my  admira- 
tion, or  diminished  because  they  consider  me  wrong  ?  ^ 

110.  The  opinion  of  the  majority  is  not  lightly  to  be 
rejected ;  but  neither  is  it  to  be  carelessly  echoed.  There 
is  something  noble  in  the  submission  to  a  great  renown, 
which  makes  all  reverence  a  healthy  attitude  if  it  be 
genuine.  When  I  think  of  the  immense  fame  of  Raphael, 
and  of  how  many  high  and  delicate  minds  have  found  ex- 
quisite delight  even  in  the  '  Transfiguration,'  and  especially 
when  I  recall  how  others  of  his  works  have  affected  me,  it 
is  natural  to  feel  some  diffidence  in  opposing  the  judgment 
of  men  whose  studies  have  given  them  the  best  means  of 
forming  that  judgment  —  a  diffidence  which  may  keep  me 
silent  on  the  nuitter.  To  start  with  the  assumption  that 
you  are  right,  and  all  who  oppose  you  are  fools,  cannot  be  a 
safe  method.  Nor  in  spite  of  a  conviction  that  much  of 
the  admiration  expressed  for  the  'Transfiguration'  is  lip- 
homage  and  tradition,  ought  the  non-admiring  to  assume 
that  all  of  it  is  insincere.  It  is  quite  compatible  with 
modesty  to  be  perfectly  independent,  and  with  sincerity  to 
be  respectful  to  the  opinions  and  tastes  of  others.  If  you 
express  any  opinion,  you  are  bound  to  express  your  real 
opinion;  let  critics  and  admirers  utter  what  dithyrambs 
they  please.     Were  this  terror  of  not  being  thought  correct 

1  I  have  never  thoroughly  understood  the  painful  anxiety  of  people  to  be 
shielded  against  the  dishonouring  suspicion  of  not  rightly  appreciating  pic- 
tures, even  when  the  very  phrases  they  use  betray  their  ignorance  and  in- 
sensibility. Many  will  avow  their  indifference  to  music,  and  almost  boast 
of  their  ignorance  of  science  ;  will  sneer  at  abstract  theories,  and  profess  the 
most  tepid  interest  in  history,  who  would  feel  it  an  unpardonable  insult  if 
you  doubted  their  enthusiasm  for  painting  and  the  "  old  masters  "  (by  them 
secretly  identified  with  the  brown  masters).  It  is  an  insincerity  fostered 
by  general  pretence.  Each  man  is  afraid  to  declare  his  real  sentiments  in 
the  presence  of  others  equally  timid.  Massive  authority  overawes  genuine 
feeling.  —  G.  H.  L. 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity.  97 

in  taste  once  got  rid  of,  how  many  stereotyped  judgments 
on  books  and  pictures  would  be  broken  up !  and  the  result 
of  this  sincerity  would  be  some  really  valuable  criticism. 
In  the  presence  of  Eaphael's  '  Sistine  Madonna,'  Titian's 
^  Peter  the  Martyr,'  or  Masaccio's  great  frescoes  in  the 
Brancacci  Chapel,  one  feels  as  if  there  had  been  nothing 
written  about  these  mighty  works,  so  little  does  any  eulogy 
discriminate  the  elements  of  their  profound  effects,  so  little 
have  critics  expressed  their  own  thoughts  and  feelings. 
Yet  every  day  some  wandering  connoisseur  stands  before 
these  pictures,  and  at  once,  without  waiting  to  let  them 
sink  deep  into  his  mind,  discovers  all  the  merits  which  are 
stereotyped  in  the  criticisms,  and  discovers  nothing  else. 
He  does  not  wait  to  feel,  he  is  impatient  to  range  himself 
with  men  of  taste  ;  he  discards  all  genuine  impressions, 
replacing  them  with  vague  conceptions  of  what  he  is  ex- 
pected to  see. 

111.  Inasmuch  as  success  must  be  determined  by  the 
relation  between  the  work  and  the  public,  the  sincerity 
which  leads  a  man  into  open  revolt  against  established 
opinions  may  seem  to  be  an  obstacle.  Indeed,  publishers, 
critics,  and  friends  are  always  loud  in  their  prophecies 
against  originality  and  independence  on  this  very  ground ; 
they  do  their  utmost  to  stifle  every  attempt  at  novelty, 
because  they  fix  their  eyes  upon  a  hypothetical  public 
taste,  and  think  that  only  what  has  already  been  proved 
successful  can  again  succeed ;  forgetting  that  whatever  has 
once  been  done  need  not  be  done  over  again,  and  forget- 
ting that  what  is  now  commonplace  was  once  originality. 
There  are  cases  in  which  a  disregard  of  public  opinion  will 
inevitably  call  forth  opprobrium  and  neglect ;  but  there  is 
no  case  in  which  Sincerity  is  not  strength.  If  I  advance 
new  views  in  Philosophy  or  Theology,  I  cannot  expect  to 
have  many  adherents  among  minds  altogether  unprepared 
for  such  views ;  yet  it  is  certain  that  even  those  who  most 


98  The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

fiercely  oppose  me  will  recognise  the  power  of  my  voice  if 
it  is  not  a  mere  echo ;  and  the  very  novelty  will  challenge 
attention,  and  at  last  gain  adherents  if  my  views  have  any 
real  insight.  At  any  rate  the  point  to  be  considered  is  this, 
that  whether  the  novel  views  excite  opposition  or  applause, 
the  one  condition  of  their  success  is  that  they  be  believed 
in  by  the  propagator.  The  public  can  only  be  really  moved 
by  what  is  genuine.  Even  an  error  if  believed  in  will  have 
greater  force  than  an  insincere  truth.  Lip-advocacy  only 
rouses  lip-homage.     It  is  belief  which  gives  momentum. 

112.  Nor  is  it  any  serious  objection  to  what  is  here  said, 
that  insincerity  and  timid  acquiescence  in  the  opinion  and 
tastes  of  the  public  do  often  gain  applause  and  tem^^orary 
success.  Sanding  the  sugar  is  not  immediately  unprofitable. 
There  is  an  unpleasant  popularity  given  to  falsehood  in  this 
world  of  ours ;  but  we  love  the  truth  notwithstanding,  and 
with  a  more  enduring  love.  Who  does  not  know  what  it  is 
to  listen  to  public  speakers  pouring  forth  expressions  of 
hollow  belief  and  sham  enthusiasm,  snatching  at  common- 
places with  a  fervour  as  of  faith,  emphasising  insincerities 
as  if  to  make  up  by  emphasis  what  is  wanting  in  feeling, 
all  the  while  saying  not  only  what  they  do  not  believe,  but 
what  the  listeners  A'?iow  they  do  not  believe,  and  what  the 
listeners,  though  they  roar  assent,  do  not  themselves  be- 
lieve —  a  turbulence  of  sham,  the  very  noise  of  which  stuns 
the  conscience  ?  Is  such  an  orator  really  enviable,  although 
thunders  of  applause  may  have  greeted  his  efforts  ?  Is 
that  success,  although  the  newspapers  all  over  the  kingdom 
may  be  reporting  the  speech  ?  What  influence  remains 
when  the  noise  of  the  shouts  has  died  away  ?  Whereas,  if 
on  the  same  occasion  one  man  gave  utterance  to  a  sincere 
thought,  even  if  it  were  not  a  very  wise  thought,  although 
the  silence  of  the  public  —  perhaps  its  hisses  —  may  have 
produced  an  impression  of  failure,  y^t  -there  is  success,  for 
the  thought  will  re-appear  and  mingle  with  the  thoughts  of 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity.  99 

men  to  be  adopted  or  combated  by  them,  and  may  perhaps 
in  a  few  years  mark  out  the  speaker  as  a  man  better, worth 
listening  to  than  the  noisy  orator  whose  insincerity  was  so 
much  cheered. 

113.  The  same  observation  applies  to  books.  An  author 
who  waits  upon  the  times,  and  utters  only  what  he  thinks 
the  world  will  like  to  hear,  who  sails  with  the  stream, 
admiring  everything  which  it  is  "  correct  taste  "  to  admire, 
despising  everything  which  has  not  yet  received  that  Hall- 
mark, sneering  at  the  thoughts  of  a  great  thinker  not  yet 
accepted  as  such,  and  slavishly  repeating  the  small  phrases 
of  a  thinker  Avho  has  gained  renown,  flippant  and  con- 
temptuous towards  opinions  which  he  has  not  taken  the 
trouble  to  understand,  and  never  venturing  to  oppose  even 
the  errors  of  men  in  authority,  such  an  author  may  indeed 
by  dint  of  a  certain  dexterity  in  assorting  the  mere  husks 
of  opinion  gain  the  applause  of  reviewers,  who  will  call  him 
a  thinker,  and  of  indolent  men  and  Avomen  who  will  pro- 
nounce him  "so  clever'' ;  but  triumphs  of  this  kind  are  like 
oratorical  triumphs  after  dinner.  Every  autumn  the  earth 
is  strewed  with  the  dead  leaves  of  such  vernal  successes. 

iii.    Sincerity  as  Related  to  Vision. 

114.  I  would  not  have  the  reader  conclude  that  because 
I  advocate  plain-speaking  even  of  unpopular  views,  I  mean 
to  imply  that  originality  and  sincerity  are  always  in  opposi- 
tion to  public  opinion.  There  are  many  points  both  of 
doctrine  and  feeling  in  which  the  world  is  not  likely  to  be 
wrong.  But  in  all  cases  it  is  desirable  that  men  should  not 
pretend  to  believe  opinions  which  they  really  reject,  or 
express  emotions  they  do  not  feel.  And  this  rule  is  uni- 
versal. Even  truthful  and  modest  men  will  sometimes 
violate  the  rule  under  the  mistaken  idea  of  being  eloquent 
by  means  of  the  diction  of  eloquence.     This  is  a  source 


100         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

of  bad  Literature.  There  are  certain  views  in  Religion, 
Ethics,  and  Politics,  which  readily  lend  themselves  to  elo- 
quence, because  eloquent  men  have  written  largely  on  them, 
and  the  temptation  to  secure  this  facile  effect  often  seduces 
men  to  advocate  these  views,  in  preference  to  view^s  they 
really  see  to  be  more  rational.  That  this  eloquence  at 
second-hand  is  but  feeble  in  its  effect,  does  not  restrain 
others  from  rex3eating  it.  Experience  never  seems  to  teach 
them  that  grand  speech  comes  only  from  grand  thoughts, 
passionate  speech  from  passionate  emotions.  The  pomp 
and  roll  of  words,  the  trick  of  phrase,  the  rhythm  and  the 
gesture  of  an  orator,  may  all  be  imitated,  but  not  his 
eloquence.  ISTo  man  was  ever  eloquent  by  trying  to  be  elo- 
quent, but  only  by  being  so.  Trying  leads  to  the  vice  of 
"fine  w^riting"  —  the  plague-spot  of  Literature,  not  only 
unhealthy  in  itself,  and  vulgarising  the  grand  language 
which  should  be  reserved  for  great  thoughts,  but  encour- 
aging that  tendency  to  select  only  those  views  upon  which 
a  spurious  enthusiasm  can  most  readily  graft  the  repre- 
sentative abstractions  and  stirring  suggestions  Avhich  will 
move  public  applause.  The  "  fine  wa-iter  "  will  always  pre- 
fer the  opinion  which  is  striking  to  the  opinion  which  is 
true.  He  frames  his  sentences  by  the  ear,  and  is  only  dis- 
satisfied with  them  Avhen  their  cadences  are  ill-distributed, 
or  their  diction  is  too  familiar.  It  seldom  occurs  to  him 
that  a  sentence  should  accurately  express  his  meaning  and 
no  more  ;  indeed  there  is  not  often  a  definite  meaning  to  be 
expressed,  for  the  thought  which  arose  vanished  while  he 
tried  to  express  it,  and  the  sentence,  instead  of  being  deter- 
mined by  and  moulded  on  a  thought,  is  determined  by  some 
verbal  suggestion.  Open  any  book  or  periodical,  and  see 
how  frequently  the  writer  does  not,  cannot,  mean  what  he 
says ;  and  you  will  observe  that  in  general  the  defect  does 
not  arise  from  any  poverty  in  our  language,  but  from  the 
habitual  carelessness  w^hich  allows  expressions  to  be  written 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity.  101 

down  unchallenged  provided  they  are  sufficiently  harmonic 
ous,  and  not  glaringly  inadequate. 

115.  The  slapdash  insincerity  of  modern  style  entirely 
sets  at  nought  the  first  principle  of  writing,  which  is 
accuracy.  The  art  of  writing  is  not,  as  many  seem  to 
imagine,  the  art  of  bringing  fine  phrases  into  rhythmical 
order,  but  the  art  of  placing  before  the  reader  intelligible 
symbols  of  the  thoughts  and  feelings  in  the  writer's  mind. 
Endeavour  to  be  faithful,  and  if  there  is  any  beauty  in  your 
thought,  your  style  will  be  beautiful ;  if  there  is  any  real 
emotion  to  express,  the  expression  will  be  moving.  Never 
rouge  your  style.  Trust  to  your  native  pallor  rather  than 
to  cosmetics.  Try  to  make  us  see  what  you  see  and  to  feel 
what  you  feel,  and  banish  from  your  mind  whatever  phrases 
others  may  have  used  to  express  what  was  in  their  thoughts, 
but  is  not  in  yours.  Have  you  never  observed  what  a 
slight  impression  writers  have  produced,  in  spite  of  a  pro- 
fusion of  images,  antitheses,  witty  epigrams,  and  rolling 
periods,  whereas  some  simpler  style,  altogether  wanting  in 
such  "brilliant  passage,"  has  gained  the  attention  and 
respect  of  thousands  ?  Whatever  is  stuck  on  as  ornament 
affects  us  as  ornament ;  we  do  not  think  an  old  hag  young 
and  handsome  because  the  jewels  flash  from  her  brow 
and  bosom ;  if  we  envy  her  wealth,  we  do  not  admire  her 
beauty. 

116.  What  "  fine  writing  "  is  to  prosaists,  insincere  imagery 
is  to  poets :  it  is  introduced  for  effect,  not  used  as  expres- 
sion. To  the  real  poet  an  image  comes  spontaneously,  or 
if  it  comes  as  an  afterthought,  it  is  chosen  because  it  ex- 
presses his  meaning  and  helps  to  paint  the  picture  which 
is  in  his  mind,  not  because  it  is  beautiful  in  itself.  It  is  a 
symbol,  not  an  ornament.  Whether  the  image  rise  slowly 
before  the  mind  during  the  contemplation,  or  is  seen  in  the 
same  flash  which  discloses  the  picture,  in  each  case  it  arises 
by  natural  association,  and  is  seen^  not  sought.     The  inferior 


102         The  Princiijles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

poet  is  dissatisfied  with  what  he  sees,  and  casts  about  in 
search  after  something  more  striking.  He  does  not  wait 
till  an  image  is  borne  in  upon  the  tide  of  memory,  he  seeks 
for  an  image  that  Avill  be  picturesque  ;  and  being  without 
the  delicate  selective  instinct  which  guides  the  fine  artist, 
he  generall}^  chooses  something  which  we  feel  to  be  not 
exactly  in  its  right  place.     He  thus  — 

' '  With  gold  and  silver  covers  every  part, 
And  hides  with  ornament  his  want  of  art."  ^ 

117.  Be  true  to  your  own  soul,  and  do  not  try  to  express 
the  thought  of  another.  "  If  some  people,"  says  Euskin, 
"really  see  angels  where  others  see  only  empty  space,  let 
them  paint  the  angels :  only  let  not  anybody  else  think  he 
can  paint  an  angel  too,  on  any  calculated  principles  of  the 
angelic."  ^  Unhappil}'  this  is  precisely  what  so  many  will 
attempt,  inspired  by  the  success  of  the  angelic  painter. 
Nor  will  the  failure  of  others  warn  them. 

118.  Whatever  is  sincerely  felt  or  believed,  whatever 
forms  part  of  the  imaginative  experience,  and  is  not  simply 
imitation  or  hearsay,  may  fitly  be  given  to  the  world,  and 
will  always  maintain  an  infinite  superiority  over  imitative 
splendour;  because  although  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
whatever  has  formed  part  of  the  artist's  experience  must  be 
impressive,  or  can  do  without  artistic  presentation,  yet  his 
artistic  power  will  always  be  greater  over  his  own  material 
than  over  another's.  Emerson  has  well  remarked  that 
"those  facts,  words,  persons,  which  dwell  in  a  man's  memory 
without   his  being  able  to  say  why,  remain,  because  they 

1  "  Poets  like  painters,  thus,  uuskill'd  to  trace 
The  naked  nature  and  the  living  grace, 
With  gold  and  jewels  cover  ev'ry  part. 
And  hide  with  ornaments  their  want  of  art." 

—  Pope's  '  Essay  on  Criticism,'  11.  293-296. 

2 '  Modern  Painters,'  IV.,  Chap.  II.,  Sect.  2. 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity.  103 

have  a  relation  to  him  not  less  real  for  being  as  yet  unappre- 
hended. They  are  symbols  of  value  to  him,  as  they  can 
interpret  parts  of  his  consciousness  which  he  would  vainly 
seek  words  for  in  the  conventional  images  of  books  and 
other  minds.  What  attracts  my  attention  shall  have  it,  as 
I  will  go  to  the  man  who  knocks  at  my  door,  while  a  thou- 
sand persons,  as  worthy,  go  by  it,  to  whom  I  give  no  regard. 
It  is  enough  that  these  particulars  speak  to  me.  A  few 
anecdotes,  a  few  traits  of  character,  manners,  face,  a  few 
incidents  have  an  emphasis  in  your  memory  out  of  all  pro- 
portion to  their  apparent  significance,  if  you  measure  them 
by  the  ordinary  standards.  They  relate  to  your  gift.  Let 
them  have  their  weight,  and  do  not  reject  them,  and  cast 
about  for  illustrations  and  facts  more  usual  in  literature."  ^ 

119.  In  the  notes  to  the  last  edition  of  his  poems,  Words- 
worth specified  the  particular  occasions  which  furnished 
him  with  particular  images.  It  was  the  things  he  had  seen 
which  he  put  into  his  verses ;  and  that  is  why  they  affect  us. 
It  matters  little  whether  the  poet  draws  his  images  directly 
from  present  experience,  or  indirectly  from  memory  — 
whether  the  sight  of  the  slow-sailing  swan,  that  "floats  dou- 
ble, swan  and  shadow  "  ^  be  at  once  transferred  to  the  scene 
of  the  poem  he  is  writing,  or  come  back  to  him  in  after 
years  to  complete  some  picture  in  his  mind ;  enough  that  the 
image  be  suggested,  and  not  sought. 

120.  The  sentence  from  Ruskin,  quoted  just  now,  will 
guard  against  the  misconception  that  a  writer,  because  told 
to  rely  on  his  own  experience,  is  enjoined  to  forego  the 
glory  and  delight  of  creation  even  of  fantastic  types.  He 
is  only  told  never  to  pretend  to  see  what  he  has  not  seen. 

1  Essay  ou  '  Spiritual  Laws.' 

2  "  Let  .  .  . 

The  swan  on  still  St.  Mary's  Lake 
Float  double,  swan  and  shadow." 

— '  Yarrow  Un visited.' 


104         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

He  is  urged  to  follow  Imagination  in  her  most  erratic 
course,  tliougli  like  a  will-o'-wisp  she  lead  over  marsh  and 
fen  away  from  the  haunts  of  mortals ;  but  not  to  pretend  that 
he  is  following  a  will-o'-wisp  when  his  vagrant  fancy  never 
was  allured  by  one.  It  is  idle  to  paint  fairies  and  goblins 
unless  you  have  a  genuine  vision  of  them  which  forces  you 
to  paint  them.  They  are  poetical  objects,  but  only  to  poetic 
minds.  "Be  a  plain  topographer  if  you  possibly  can,"  says 
Euskin,  "  if  Nature  meant  you  to  be  anything  else,  she  will 
force  you  to  it ;  but  never  try  to  be  a  prophet ;  go  on  quietly 
with  your  hard  camp-work,  and  the  spirit  will  come  to  you 
in  the  camp,  as  it  did  to  Eldad  and  Medad,  if  you  are  ap- 
pointed to  have  it.'- ^  Yes  :  if  you  are  appointed  to  have  it; 
if  your  faculties  are  such  that  this  high  success  is  possible, 
it  will  come,  provided  the  faculties  are  employed  with  sin- 
cerity. Otherwise  it  cannot  come.  No  insincere  effort  can 
secure  it. 

121.  If  the  advice  I  give  to  reject  every  insincerity  in 
writing  seem  cruel,  because  it  robs  the  writer  of  so  many 
of  his  effects  —  if  it  seem  disheartening  to  earnestly  warn 
a  man  not  to  t7'y  to  be  eloquent,  but  only  to  be  eloquent 
when  his  thoughts  move  with  an  impassioned  largo  —  if 
throwing  a  writer  back  upon  his  naked  faculty  seem  espe- 
cially distasteful  to  those  who  have  a  painful  misgiving  that 
their  faculty  is  small,  and  that  the  uttermost  of  their  own 
power  would  be  far  from  impressive,  my  answer  is  that  I 
have  no  hope  of  dissuading  feeble  writers  from  the  practice 
of  insincerity,  but  as  under  no  circumstances  can  they  be- 
come good  writers  and  achieve  success,  my  analysis  has  no 
reference  to  them,  my  advice  has  no  aim  at  them. 

122.  It  is  to  the  young  and  strong,  to  the  ambitious  and 
the  earnest,  that  my  words  are  addressed.  It  is  to  wipe  the 
film  from  their  eyes,  and  make  them  see,  as  the}^  will  see 

1  '  Modern  Painters,'  IV.,  Chap.  II.,  Sect.  4. 


The  Principle  of  Sincerity.  105 

directly  the  truth  is  placed  before  them,  how  easily  we  are 
all  seduced  into  greater  or  less  insincerity  of  thought,  of 
feeling,  and  of  style,  either  by  reliance  on  other  writers, 
from  whom  we  catch  the  trick  of  thought  and  turn  of 
phrase,  or  from  some  preconceived  view  of  what  the  public 
will  prefer.  It  is  to  the  young  and  strong  I  say :  Watch 
vigilantly  every  phrase  you  write,  and  assure  yourself  that 
it  expresses  what  you  mean ;  watch  vigilantly  every 
thought  you  express,  and  assure  yourself  that  it  is  yours, 
not  another's ;  you  may  share  it  with  another,  but  you 
must  not  adopt  it  from  him  for  the  nonce.  Of  course, 
if  you  are  writing  humorously  or  dramatically,  you  will 
not  be  expected  to  write  your  own  serious  opinions.  Hu- 
mour may  take  its  utmost  licence,  yet  be  sincere.  The 
dramatic  genius  may  incarnate  itself  in  a  hundred  shapes, 
yet  in  each  it  will  speak  what  it  feels  to  be  the  truth.  If 
you  are  imaginatively  representing  the  feelings  of  another, 
as  in  some  playful  exaggeration  or  some  dramatic  persona- 
tion, the  truth  required  of  you  is  imaginative  truth,  not 
your  personal  views  and  feelings.  But  when  you  write  in 
your  own  person  you  must  be  rigidly  veracious,  neither  pre- 
tending to  admire  what  you  do  not  admire,  or  to  despise 
what  in  secret  you  rather  like,  nor  surcharging  your  admi- 
ration and  enthusiasm  to  bring  you  into  unison  with  the 
public  chorus.  This  vigilance  may  render  Literature  more 
laborious  ;  but  no  one  ever  supposed  that  success  was  to  be 
had  on  easy  terms ;  and  if  you  only  write  one  sincere  page 
where  you  might  have  written  twenty  insincere  pages,  the 
one  page  is  worth  writing  —  it  is  Literature.^ 

123.  Sincerity  is  not  only  effective  and  honourable,  it  is 
also  much  less  difficult  than  is  commonly  supposed.  To 
take  a  trifling  example :  If  for  some  reason  I  cannot,  or  do 

1  Cf.  Ruskin,  *  Modern  Painters,'  Vol.  III.,  Chap.  III. ;  M.  Arnold's  essay- 
on  '  Wordsworth  ' ;  Emerson's  essay  on  '  Poetry  and  Imagination,'  the  sec- 
tion on  '  Veracity.' 


106         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

not,  choose  to  verify  a  quotation  which  may  be  useful  to  my 
purpose,  what  is  to  prevent  my  saying  that  the  quotation  is 
taken  at  second-hand  ?  It  is  true,  if  my  quotations  are  for 
the  most  part  second-hand  and  are  acknowledged  as  such,  my 
erudition  will  appear  scanty.  But  it  will  only  appear  what  it 
is.  Why  should  I  pretend  to  an  erudition  which  is  not  mine  ? 
Sincerity  forbids  it.  Prudence  whispers  that  the  pretence 
is,  after  all,  vain,  because  those,  and  those  alone,  who  can 
rightly  estimate  erudition  will  infallibly  detect  my  pretence, 
whereas  those  whom  I  have  deceived  were  not  worth  deceiv- 
ing. Yet  in  spite  of  Sincerity  and  Prudence,  how  shame- 
lessly men  compile  second-hand  references,  and  display  in 
borrowed  foot-notes  a  pretence  of  labour  and  of  accuracy ! 
I  mention  this  merely  to  show  how,  even  in  the  humbler 
class  of  compilers,  the  Principle  of  Sincerity  may  find  fit 
illustrations,  and  how  honest  work,  even  in  references,  be- 
longs to  the  same  category  as  honest  work  in  philosophy  or 
poetry. 


CHAPTER   V. 

THE   PRINCIPLE   OF   BEAUTY. 

i.    The  Secret  of  Style. 

124.  It  is  not  enough  that  a  man  has  clearness  of  Vision, 
and  reliance  on  Sincerity,  he  must  also  have  the  art  of 
Expression,  or  he  will  remain  obscure.     Many  have  had 

"  The  visionary  eye,  the  faculty  to  see 
The  thing  that  hath  been  as  the  thing  which  is," 

but  either  from  native  defect,  or  the  mistaken  bias  of  educa- 
tion, have  been  frustrated  in  the  attempt  to  give  their  vis- 
ions beautiful  or  intelligible  shape.  The  art  which  could 
give  them  shape  is  doubtless  intimately  dependent  on  clear- 
ness of  eye  and  sincerity  of  purpose,  but  it  is  also  something 
over  and  above  these,  and  comes  from  an  organic  aptitude 
not  less  special,  when  possessed  with  fulness,  than  the  apti- 
tude for  music  or  drawing.  Any  instructed  person  can 
write,  as  any  one  can  learn  to  draw ;  but  to  write  well,  to 
express  ideas  with  felicity  and  force,  is  not  an  accomplish- 
ment but  a  talent.  The  power  of  seizing  unapparent  rela- 
tions of  things  is  not  always  conjoined  with  the  power  of 
selecting  the  fittest  verbal  symbols  by  which  they  can  be 
made  apparent  to  others  :  the  one  is  the  power  of  the  thinker, 
the  other  the  power  of  the  writer. 

125.  "  Style,"  says  De  Qumcey,  '^  has  two  separate  func- 
tions —  first,  to  brighten  the  intelligibility  of  a  subject  which 
is  obscure  to  the  understanding;  secondly,  to  regenerate 
the  normal  power  and  impressiveness  of  a  subject  which 
has  become  dormant  to  the  sensibilities.    .    .    .     Decaying 

107 


108         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

lineaments  are  to  be  retraced,  and  faded  colouring  to  be 
refreshed."  ^  To  effect  these  x^urposes  we  require  a  rich 
verbal  memory  from  which  to  select  the  symbols  best  fitted 
to  call  up  images  in  the  reader's  mind,  and  we  also  require 
the  delicate  selective  instinct  to  guide  us  in  the  choice  and 
arrangement  of  those  symbols,  so  that  the  rhythm  and 
cadence  may  agreeably  attune  the  mind,  rendering  it  recep- 
tive to  the  impressions  meant  to  be  communicated.  A  copi- 
ous verbal  memory,  like  a  copious  memory  of  facts,  is  only 
one  source  of  power,  and  without  the  high  controlling  faculty 
of  the  artist  may  lead  to  diffusive  indecision.  Just  as  one 
man,  gifted  with  keen  insight,  will  from  a  small  stock  of 
facts  extricate  unapparent  relations  to  which  others,  rich  in 
knowledge,  have  been  blind ;  so  will  a  writer,  gifted  with 
a  fine  instinct,  select  from  a  narrow  range  of  phrases  sym- 
bols of  beauty  and  of  power  utterly  beyond  the  reach  of 
commonplace  minds.  It  is  often  considered,  both  by  writers 
and  readers,  that  fine  language  makes  fine  writers ;  yet  no 
one  supposes  that  fine  colonrs  make  a  fine  painter.  The 
cojjia  verborum  is  often  a  weakness  and  a  snare.  As  Arthur 
Helps  says,  men  use  several  epithets  in  the  hope  that  one 
of  them  may  fit.  But  the  artist  knows  which  epithet  does 
fit,  uses  that,  and  rejects  the  rest.  The  characteristic  weak- 
ness of  bad  writers  is  inaccuracy:  their  symbols  do  not 
adequately  express  their  ideas.  Pause  but  for  a  moment 
over  their  sentences,  and  you  perceive  that  they  are  using 
language  at  random,  the  choice  being  guided  rather  by  some 
indistinct  association  of  phrases,  or  some  broken  echoes  of 
familiar  sounds,  tlian  by  any  selection  of  words  to  represent 
ideas.  I  read  the  other  day  of  the  truck  system  being  "  ram- 
pant "  in  a  certain  district ;  and  every  day  we  may  meet 
with  similar  echoes  of  familiar  words  which  betray  the  flac- 
cid condition  of  the  writer's  mind  drooping  under  the  labour 
of  expression. 

1  Essay  on  '  Language.' 


The  Principle  of  Beauty.  109 

126.  Except  in  the  rare  cases  of  great  dynamic  thinkers 
whose  thoughts  are  as  turning-points  in  the  history  of  our 
race,  it  is  by  Style  that  writers  gain  distinction,  by  Style 
they  secure  their  immortality.^  In  a  lower  sphere  many 
are  remarked  as  writers  although  they  may  lay  no  claim  to 
distinction  as  thinkers,  if  they  have  the  faculty  of  felici- 
tously expressing  the  ideas  of  others ;  and  many  who  are 
really  remarkable  as  thinkers  gain  but  slight  recognition 
from  the  public,  simply  because  in  them  the  faculty  of 
expression  is  feeble.  In  proportion  as  the  work  passes 
from  the  sphere  of  passionless  intelligence  to  that  of  impas- 
sioned intelligence,  from  the  region  of  demonstration  to  the 
region  of  emotion,  the  art  of  Style  becomes  more  complex, 
its  necessity  more  imperious.  But  even  in  Philosophy  and 
Science  the  art  is  both  subtle  and  necessary  ;  the  choice 
and  arrangement  of  the  fitting  symbols,  though  less  difficult 
than  in  Art,  is  quite  indispensable  to  success.  If  the  dis- 
tinction which- 1  formerly  drew^  between  the  Scientific  and 
the  Artistic  tendencies  be  accepted,  it  will  disclose  a  corre- 
sponding difference  in  the  Style  which  suits  a  ratiocinative 
exposition  fixing  attention  on  abstract  relations,  and  an 
emotive  exposition  fixing  attention  on  objects  as  related  to 
the  feelings.  We  do  not  expect  the  scientific  writer  to  stir 
our  emotions,  otherwise  than  by  the  secondary  influences 
which  arise  from  our  awe  and  delight  at  the  unveiling  of 
new  truths.  In  his  own  researches  he  should  extricate 
himself  from  the  joerturbing  influences  of  emotion,  and 
consequently  he  should  protect  us  from  such  suggestions  in 
his  exposition.  Feeling  too  often  smites  intellect  with 
blindness,  and  intellect  too  often  paralyses  the  free  play  of 
emotion,  not  to  call  for  a  decisive  separation  of  the  two. 

1  "  Les  ouvrages  bien  ecrit  seront  les  seuls  qui  passeront  a  la  posterite: 
la  quantite  des  connaissances,  la  singularite  des  faits,  ne  sont  pas  de  surs 
garants  de  I'immortalite."  —  Buffon,  '  Discours  sur  le  Style.' 

2  §  59-75. 


110         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

But  this  separation  is  no  ground  for  the  disregard  of  Style 
in  works  of  pure  demonstration  —  as  we  shall  see  by-and-by. 

127.  The  Principle  of  Beauty  is  only  another  name  for 
Style,  which  is  an  art,  incommunicable  as  are  all  other  arts, 
but  like  them  subordinated  to  laws  founded  on  psycholog- 
ical conditions.  The  laws  constitute  the  Philosophy  of 
Criticism ;  and  I  shall  have  to  ask  the  reader's  indulgence 
if  for  the  first  time  I  attempt  to  expound  them  scientifically 
in  the  chapter  to  which  the  present  is  only  an  introduction. 
A  knowledge  of  these  laws,  even  presuming  them  to  be 
accurately  expounded,  will  no  more  give  a  writer  the  power 
of  felicitous  expression  than  a  knowledge  of  the  laws  of 
colour,  perspective,  and  proportion  will  enable  a  critic  to 
paint  a  picture.  But  all  good  writing  must  conform  to 
these  laws  ;  all  bad  writing  will  be  found  to  violate  them. 
And  the  utility  of  the  knowledge  will  be  that  of  a  constant 
monitor,  warning  the  artist  of  the  errors  into  which  he  has 
slipped,  or  into  which  he  may  slip  if  unwarned. 

128.  How  is  it  that  while  every  one  acknowledges  the  im- 
portance of  Style,  and  numerous  critics  from  Quinctilian  and 
Longinus  down  to  Quarterly  Eeviewers  have  written  upon 
it,  very  little  has  been  done  towards  a  satisfactory  estab- 
lishment of  principles  ?  Is  it  not  partly  because  the  critics 
have  seldom  held  the  true  purpose  of  Style  steadily  before 
their  eyes,  and  still  seldomer  justified  their  canons  by  de- 
ducing them  from  psychological  conditions  ?  To  my  appre- 
hension they  seem  to  have  mistaken  the  real  sources  of 
influence,  and  have  fastened  attention  upon  some  accidental 
or  collateral  details,  instead  of  tracing  the  direct  connection 
between  effects  and  causes.  Misled  by  the  splendour  of 
some  great  renown  they  have  concluded  that  to  write  like 
Cicero  or  to  paint  like  Titian  must  be  the  pathway  to  suc- 
cess ;  which  is  true  in  one  sense,  and  profoundly  false  as 
they  understand  it.  One  pestilent  contagious  error  issued 
from  this  misconception,  namely,  that  all  maxims  confirmed 


The  PiHnci])le  of  Beauty.  Ill 

by  the  practice  of  the  great  artists  must  be  maxims  for  the 
art;  although  a  close  examination  might  reveal  that  the 
practice  of  these  artists  may  have  been  the  result  of  their 
peculiar  individualities  or  of  the  state  of  culture  at  their 
epoch.  A  true  Philosophy  of  Criticism  would  exhibit  in 
how  far  such  maxims  were  universal,  as  founded  on  laws 
of  human  nature,  and  in  how  far  adaptations  to  particular 
individualities.  A  great  talent  will  discover  new  methods. 
A  great  success  ought  to  put  us  on  the  track  of  new  prin- 
ciples. But  the  fundamental  laws  of  Style,  resting  on  the 
truths  of  human  nature,  may  be  illustrated,  they  cannot  be 
guaranteed  by  any  individual  success.  Moreover,  the  strong 
individuality  of  the  artist  will  create  special  modifications 
of  the  laws  to  suit  himself,  making  that  excellent  or  endur- 
able which  in  other  hands  would  be  intolerable.  If  the 
purpose  of  Literature  be  the  sincere  expression  of  the 
individual's  own  ideas  and  feelings  it  is  obvious  that  the 
cant  about  the  "  best  models  "  tends  to  pervert  and  obstruct 
that  expression.  Unless  a  man  thinks  and  feels  precisely 
after  the  manner  of  Cicero  and  Titian  it  is  manifestly  wrong 
for  him  to  express  himself  in  their  way.  He  may  study  in 
them  the  principles  of  effect,  and  try  to  surprise  some  of 
their  secrets,  but  he  should  resolutely  shun  all  imitation 
of  them.  They  ought  to  be  illustrations  not  authorities, 
studies  not  models. 

ii.  Imitation  of  the  Classics. 

129.  The  fallacy  about  models  is  seen  at  once  if  we  ask 
this  simple  question  :  Will  the  practice  of  a  great  writer 
justify  a  solecism  in  grammar  or  a  confusion  in  logic?  No. 
Then  why  should  it  justify  any  other  detail  not  to  be  recon- 
ciled with  universal  truth  ?  If  we  are  forced  to  invoke  the 
arbitration  of  reason  in  the  one  case,  we  must  do  so  in  the 
other.     Unless  we  set  aside  the  individual  practice  when- 


112         The  Pri7ici])les  of  Success  in  Literature. 

ever  it  is  irreconcilable  with  general  principles,  we  shall  be 
unable  to  discriminate  in  a  successful  work  those  merits 
which  secured  from  those  demerits  which  accompanied  suc- 
cess. Now  this  is  precisely  the  condition  in  which  Criticism 
has  always  been.  It  has  been  formal  instead  of  being  psy- 
chological :  it  has  drawn  its  maxims  from  the  works  of 
successful  artists,  instead  of  ascertaining  the  psychological 
principles  involved  in  the  effects  of  those  works.  When 
the  perplexed  dramatist  called  down  curses  on  the  man  who 
invented  fifth  acts,  he  never  thought  of  escaping  from  his 
tribulation  by  writing  a  play  in  four  acts  ;  the  formal  canon 
which  made  five  acts  indispensable  to  a  tragedy  was  drawn 
from  the  practice  of  great  dramatists,  but  there  was  no 
demonstration  of  any  psychological  demand  on  the  part  of 
the  audience  for  precisely  five  acts.^ 

130.  Although  no  instructed  mind  will  for  a  moment 
doubt  the  immense  advantage  of  the  stimulus  and  culture 
derived  from  a  reverent  familiarity  with  the  works  of  our 
great  predecessors  and  contemporaries,  there  is  a  pernicious 
error  which  has  been  fostered  by  many  instructed  minds, 
rising  out  of  their  reverence  for  greatness  and  their  forget- 
fulness  of  the  ends  of  Literature.  This  error  is  the  notion 
of  "  models,"  and  of  fixed  canons  drawn  from  the  practice 
of  great  artists.  It  substitutes  Imitation  for  Invention ; 
reproduction  of  old  types  instead  of  the  creation  of  new. 
There  is  more  bad  than  good  work  produced  in  consequence 

1  English  critics  are  much  less  pedantic  in  adherence  to  "  rules  "  than 
the  French,  yet  when,  many  years  ago,  there  appeared  a  tragedy  in  three 
acts,  and  without  a  death,  these  innovations  were  considered  inadmissible; 
and  if  the  success  of  the  work  had  been  such  as  to  elicit  critical  discussion, 
the  necessity  of  five  acts  and  a  death  would  doubtless  have  been  generally 
insisted  on.  —  G.  H.  L.  The  nature  of  this  "psychological  demand"  has 
been  pointed  out  by  Freytag  ('  Technik  des  Dramas,'  pp.  100-120,  168-182, 
esp.  p.  170) ,  who  shows  that  the  five  acts  correspond  in  a  rough  way  to  the 
five  natural  stages  of  dramatic  development, — Introduction,  Rise,  Culmi- 
nation, Fall,  and  Catastrophe.  The  three-act  tragedy  referred  to  in  Lewes's 
note  is  probably  his  own  play,  '  The  Noble  Heart.' 


The  Priiieiple  of  Beauty.  113 

of  the  assiduous  followiug  of  models.  And  we  shall  seldom 
be  very  wide  of  the  mark  if  in  our  estimation  of  youthful 
productions  we  place  more  reliance  on  their  departures  from 
what  has  been  already  done,  than  on  their  resemblances  to 
the  best  artists.  An  energetic  crudity,  even  a  riotous 
absurdity,  has  more  promise  in  it  than  a  clever  and  elegant 
mediocrity,  because  it  shows  that  the  young  man  is  speak- 
ing out  of  his  own  heart,  and  struggling  to  express  himself 
in  his  own  way  rather  than  in  the  way  he  finds  in  other 
men's  books.  The  early  works  of  original  writers  are 
usually  very  bad ;  then  succeeds  a  short  interval  of  imita- 
tion in  which  the  influence  of  some  favourite  author  is  dis- 
tinctly traceable;  but  this  does  not  last  long,  the  native 
independence  of  the  mind  reasserts  itself,  and  although 
perhaps  academic  and  critical  demands  are  somewhat  disre- 
garded, so  that  the  original  writer  on  account  of  his  very 
originality  receives  but  slight  recognition  from  the  authori- 
ties, nevertheless  if  there  is  any  real  power  in  the  voice  it 
soon  makes  itself  felt  in  the  world.  There  is  one  word  of 
counsel  I  would  give  to  young  authors,  which  is  that  they 
should  be  humbly  obedient  to  the  truth  proclaimed  by  their 
own  souls,  and  haughtily  indifferent  to  the  remonstrances 
of  critics  founded  solely  on  any  departure  from  the  truths 
expressed  by  others.  It  by  no  means  follows  that  because 
a  work  is  unlike  works  that  have  gone  before  it,  therefore 
it  is  excellent  or  even  tolerable ;  it  may  be  original  in  error 
or  in  ugliness ;  but  one  thing  is  certain,  that  in  proportion 
to  its  close  fidelity  to  the  matter  and  manner  of  existing 
works  will  be  its  intrinsic  worthlessness.  And  one  of  the 
severest  assaults  on  the  fortitude  of  an  unacknowledged 
writer  comes  from  the  knowledge  that  his  critics,  with  rare 
exceptions,  will  judge  his  work  in  reference  to  pre-existing 
models,  and  not  in  reference  to  the  ends  of  Literature  and 
the  laws  of  human  nature.  He  knows  that  he  will  be  com- 
pared with  artists  whom  he  ought  not  to  resemble  if  his 


114         The  Princijjles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

work  have  truth  and  originality ;  and  finds  himself  teased 
with  disparaging  remarks  which  are  really  compliments  in 
their  objections.  He  can  comfort  himself  by  his  trust  in 
truth  and  the  sincerity  of  his  own  work.  He  may  also 
draw  strength  from  the  reflection  that  the  public  and  pos- 
terity may  cordially  appreciate  the  work  in  which  consti- 
tuted authorities  see  nothing  but  failure.  The  history  of 
Literature  abounds  in  examples  of  critics  being  entirely  at 
fault  —  missing  the  old  familiar  landmarks,  these  guides  at 
once  set  up  a  shout  of  warning  that  the  path  has  been 
missed.^ 

131.  Very  noticeable  is  the  fact  that  of  the  thousands 
who  have  devoted  years  to  the  study  of  the  classics,  espe- 
cially to  the  "niceties  of  phrase  "  and  "chastity  of  compo- 
sition," so  much  prized  in  these  classics,  very  few  have 
learned  to  write  with  felicity,  and  not  many  with  accuracy. 
Native  incompetence  has  doubtless  largely  influenced  this 
result  in  men  who  are  insensible  to  the  nicer  shades  of  dis- 
tinction in  terms,  and  want  the  subtle  sense  of  congruity ; 
but  the  false  plan  of  studying  "  models  "  without  clearly 
understanding  the  psychological  conditions  which  the  effects 
involve,  without  seeing  why  great  writing  is  effective  and 
where  it  is  merely  individual  expression,  has  injured  even 
vigorous  minds  and  paralysed  the  weak.  From  a  similar 
mistake  hundreds  have  deceived  themselves  in  trying  to 
catch  the  trick  of  phrase  peculiar  to  some  distinguished 
contemporary.  In  vain  do  they  imitate  the  Latinisms  and 
antitheses  of  Johnson,  the  epigrammatic  sentences  of  Macau- 
lay,  the  colloquial  ease  of  Thackeray,  the  cumulative  pomp 
of  Milton,  the  diffusive  play  of  De  Quincey :  a  few  friendly 
or  ignorant  reviewers  may  applaud  it  as  "  brilliant  writing," 
but  the  public  remains  unmoved.  It  is  imitation,  and  as 
such  it  is  lifeless. 

1  Cf.  Lewes's  article  in  British  and  Foreign  Review,  Vol.  13,  pp.  36-37. 


The  Principle  of  Beauty.  115 

132.  We  see  at  once  the  mistake  directly  we  understand 
that  a  genuine  style  is  the  living  body  of  thought,  not  a 
costume  that  can  be  put  on  and  off ;  it  is  the  expression  of 
the  writer's  mind;  it  is  not  less  the  incarnation  of  his 
thoughts  in  verbal  symbols  than  a  picture  is  the  painter's 
incarnation  of  his  thoughts  in  symbols  of  form  and  colour.^ 
A  man  may,  if  it  please  him,  dress  his  thoughts  in  the 
tawdry  splendour  of  a  masquerade.  But  this  is  no  more 
Literature  than  the  masquerade  is  Life. 

133.  No  Style  can  be  good  that  is  not  sincere.  It  must 
be  the  expression  of  its  author's  mind.  There  are,  of 
course,  certain  elements  of  composition  which  must  be  mas- 
tered as  a  dancer  learns  his  steps,  but  the  style  of  the 
writer,  like  the  grace  of  the  dancer,  is  only  made  effective 
by  such  mastery  ;  it  springs  from  a  deeper  source.  Initia- 
tion into  the  rules  of  construction  will  save  us  from  some 
gross  errors  of  composition,  but  it  will  not  make  a  style. 
Still  less  will  imitation  of  another's  manner  make  one.  In 
our  day  there  are  many  who  imitate  Macaulay's  short  sen- 
tences, iterations,  antitheses,  geographical  and  historical 
illustrations,  and  eighteenth  century  diction,  but  who 
accepts  them  as  Macaulays  ?  They  cannot  seize  the  secret 
of  his  charm,  because  that  charm  lies  in  the  felicity  of  his 
talent,  not  in  the  structure  of  his  sentences ;  in  the  fulness 
of  his  knowledge,  not  in  the  character  of  his  illustrations. 
Other  men  aim  at  ease  and  vigour  by  discarding  Latinisms, 
and  admitting  colloquialisms ;  but  vigour  and  ease  are  not 
to  be  had  on  recipe.  No  study  of  models,  no  attention  to 
rules,  will  give  the  easy  turn,  the  graceful  phrase,  the 
simple  word,  the  fervid  movement,  or  the  large  clearness ;  a 
picturesque  talent  will  express  itself  in  concrete  images ; 
a  genial  nature  will  smile  in  pleasant  turns  and  innuendoes  ; 
a  rapid,  unhesitating,  imperious  mind  will  deliver  its  quick 

1  Cf.  De  Quincey's  essay  on  '  Language,'  the  closing  paragraphs. 


116         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

incisive  phrases  ;  a  full  deliberating  mind  will  overflow  in 
ample  paragraphs  laden  with  the  weight  of  parentheses  and 
qualifying  suggestions.  The  style  which  is  good  in  one 
case  would  be  vicious  in  another.  The  broken  rhythm 
which  increases  the  energy  of  one  style  would  ruin  the  largo 
of  another.     Both  are  excellencies  where  both  are  natural. 

134,  We  are  always  disagreeably  impressed  by  an  obvi- 
ous imitation  of  the  manner  of  another,  because  we  feel  it 
to  be  an  insincerity,  and  also  because  it  withdraws  our 
attention  from  the  thing  said,  to  the  way  of  saying  it.  And 
here  lies  the  great  lesson  writers  have  to  learn  —  namely, 
that  they  should  think  of  the  immediate  purpose  of  their 
writing,  which  is  to  convey  truths  and  emotions,  in  symbols 
and  images,  intelligible  and  suggestive.  The  racket-player 
keeps  his  eye  on  the  ball  he  is  to  strike,  not  on  the  racket 
with  which  he  strikes.  If  the  writer  sees  vividly,  and  will 
say  honestly  what  he  sees,  and  how  he  sees  it,  he  may  want 
something  of  the  grace  and  felicity  of  other  men,  but  he 
will  have  all  the  strength  and  felicity  with  which  nature 
has  endowed  him.  More  than  that  he  cannot  attain,  and 
he  will  fall  very  short  of  it  in  snatching  at  the  grace  which 
is  another's.  Do  what  he  will,  he  cannot  escape  from  the 
infirmities  of  his  own  mind :  the  affectation,  arrogance,  os- 
tentation, hesitation,  native  in  the  man  will  taint  his  style, 
no  matter  how  closely  he  may  copy  the  manner  of  another. 
For  evil  and  for  good,  le  style  est  de  Vliomme  7iieme} 

135.  The  French  critics,  w^ho  are  singularly  servile  to  all 
established  reputations,  and  whose  unreasoning  idolatry  of 
their  own  classics  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  their  Literature 
is  not  richer,  are  fond  of  declaring  with  magisterial  empha- 
sis that  the  rules  of   good  taste  and  the  canons  of   style 

1  Buffon,  '  Discours  sur  le  Style.'  The  passage  is  commonly  misquoted, 
"  le  style  c'est  I'liomme  meme."  For  a  discussion  of  its  meaning,  see  '  Mod- 
ern Language  Notes,'  Vol.  V.,  pp.  179-180,  and  Lewes's  '  History  of  Philoso- 
phy,' chapter  on  Hobhes,  note. 


The  Pri7iciple  of  Beauty.  117 

were  fixed  once  and  for  ever  by  their  great  writers  in  the 
seventeenth  century.  The  true  ambition  of  every  modern 
is  said  to  be  by  careful  study  of  these  models  to  approach 
(though  with  no  hope  of  equalling)  their  chastity  and  ele- 
gance. That  a  writer  of  the  nineteenth  century  should 
express  himself  in  the  manner  which  was  admirable  in  the 
seventeenth  is  an  absurdity  which  needs  only  to  be  stated. 
It  is  not  worth  refuting.  But  it  never  presents  itself  thus 
to  the  French.  In  their  minds  it  is  a  lingering  remnant  of 
that  older  superstition  which  believed  the  Ancients  to  have 
discovered  all  wisdom,  so  that  if  we  could  only  surprise  the 
secret  of  Aristotle's  thoughts  and  clearly  comprehend  the 
drift  of  Plato's  theories  (which  unhappily  was  not  clear) 
we  should  compass  all  knowledge.  How  long  this  supersti- 
tion lasted  cannot  accurately  be  settled ;  perhaps  it  is  not 
quite  extinct  even  yet;  but  we  know  how  little  the  most 
earnest  students  succeeded  in  surprising  the  secrets  of  the 
universe  by  reading  Greek  treatises,  and  how  much  by 
studying  the  universe  itself.  Advancing  Science  daily  dis- 
credits the  superstition ;  yet  the  advance  of  Criticism  has 
not  yet  wholly  discredited  the  parallel  superstition  in  Art. 
The  earliest  thinkers  are  no  longer  considered  the  wisest, 
but  the  earliest  artists  are  still  proclaimed  the  finest.  Even 
those  who  do  not  believe  in  this  superiority  are,  for  the 
most  part,  overawed  by  tradition  and  dare  not  openly  ques- 
tion the  supremacy  of  works  which  in  their  private  convic- 
tions hold  a  very  subordinate  rank.  And  this  reserve  is 
encouraged  by  the  intemperate  scorn  of  those  who  question 
the  supremacy  without  having  the  knowledge  or  the  sym- 
pathy which  could  fairly  appreciate  the  earlier  artists. 
Attacks  on  the  classics  by  men  ignorant  of  the  classical 
languages  tend  to  perpetuate  the  superstition. 

136.  But  be  the  merit  of  the  classics,  ancient  and  modern, 
what  it  may,  no  writer  can  become  a  classic  by  imitating 
them.     The  principle  of   Sincerity  here  ministers  to  the 


118         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

principle  of  Beauty  by  forbidding  imitation  and  enforcing 
rivalry.  Write  what  you  can,  and  if  you  have  the  grace  of 
felicitous  expression  or  the  power  of  energetic  expression 
your  style  will  be  admirable  and  admired.  At  any  rate  see 
that  it  be  your  own,  and  not  another's ;  on  no  other  terms 
will  the  world  listen  to  it.  You  cannot  be  eloquent  by 
borrowing  from  the  opulence  of  another;  you  cannot  be 
humorous  by  mimicking  the  whims  of  another ;  what  was  a 
pleasant  smile  dimpling  his  features  becomes  a  grimace  on 
yours. 

137.  It  will  not  be  supposed  that  I  would  have  the  great 
writers  disregarded,  as  if  nothing  were  to  be  learned  from 
them ;  but  the  study  of  great  writers  should  be  the  study 
of  general  principles  as  illustrated  or  revealed  in  these 
writers ;  and  if  properly  pursued  it  will  of  itself  lead  to  a 
condemnation  of  the  notion  of  models.  What  we  may  learn 
from  them  is  a  nice  discrimination  of  the  symbols  which  in- 
telligibly express  the  shades  of  meaning  and  kindle  emo- 
tion. The  writer  wishes  to  give  his  thoughts  a  literary 
form.  This  is  for  others,  not  for  himself ;  consequently  he 
must,  before  all  things,  desire  to  be  intelligible,  and  to  be 
so  he  must  adapt  his  expressions  to  the  mental  condition  of 
his  audience.  If  he  employs  arbitrary  symbols,  such  as  old 
words  in  new  and  unexpected  senses,  he  may  be  clear  as 
daylight  to  himself,  but  to  others,  dark  as  fog.  And  the 
difficulty  of  original  writing  lies  in  this,  that  what  is  new 
and  individual  must  find  expression  in  old  symbols.  This 
difficulty  can  only  be  mastered  by  a  j^eculiar  talent, 
strengthened  and  rendered  nimble  by  practice,  and  the 
commerce  with  original  minds.  Great  writers  should  be 
our  companions  if  we  would  learn  to  write  greatly ;  but 
no  familiarity  with  their  manner  will  supply  the  place  of 
native  endowment.  Writers  are  born,  no  less  than  poets, 
and  like  poets,  they  learn  to  make  their  native  gifts  effec- 
tive.     Practice,    aiding    their  vigilant  sensibility,  teaches 


The  Principle  of  Beauty.  119 

them,  perhaps  unconsciously,  certain  methods  of  effective 
presentation,  how  one  arrangement  of  words  carries  with  it 
more  power  than  another,  how  familiar  and  concrete  ex- 
pressions are  demanded  in  one  place,  and  in  another  place 
abstract  expressions  unclogged  with  disturbing  suggestions. 
Every  author  thus  silently  amasses  a  store  of  empirical 
rules,  furnished  by  his  own  practice,  and  confirmed  by  the 
practice  of  others.  A  true  Philosophy  of  Criticism  would 
reduce  these  empirical  rules  to  science  by  ranging  them 
under  psychological  laws,  thus  demonstrating  the  validity 
of  the  rules,  not  in  virtue  of  their  having  been  employed  by 
Cicero  or  Addison,  by  Burke  or  Sydney  Smith,  but  in  virtue 
of  their  conformity  with  the  constancies  of  human  nature. 

iii.    Style  in  Plulosopliical  and  Scientific  Literature. 

138.  The  importance  of  Style  is  generally  unsuspected 
by  philosophers  and  men  of  science,  who  are  quite  aware  of 
its  advantage  in  all  departments  of  belles  lettres;  and  if  you 
allude  in  their  presence  to  the  deplorably  defective  pre- 
sentation of  the  ideas  in  some  work  distinguished  for  its 
learning,  its  profundity  or  its  novelty,  it  is  probable  that 
you  will  be  despised  as  a  frivolous  setter  up  of  manner 
over  matter,  a  light-minded  dilettante,  unfitted  for  the  sim- 
ple austerities  of  science.  But  this  is  itself  a  light-minded 
contempt ;  a  deeper  insight  would  change  the  tone,  and  help 
to  remove  the  disgraceful  slovenliness  and  feebleness  of  com- 
position which  deface  the  majority  of  grave  works,  except 
those  written  by  Frenchmen,  who  have  been  taught  that 
composition  is  an  art,  and  that  no  writer  may  neglect  it. 
In  England  and  Germany,  men  who  will  spare  no  labour  in 
research,  grudge  all  labour  in  style  ;  a  morning  is  cheerfully 
devoted  to  verifying  a  quotation,  by  one  who  will  not  spare 
ten  minutes  to  reconstruct  a  clumsy  sentence ;  a  reference 
is  sought  with  ardour,  an  appropriate  expression  in  lieu  of 


120         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

the  inexact  phrase  which  first  suggests  itself  does  not  seem 
worth  seeking.  What  are  we  to  say  to  a  man  who  spends 
a  quarter's  income  on  a  diamond  pin  which  he  sticks  in 
a  greasy  cravat?  a  man  who  calls  public  attention  on 
him,  and  appears  in  a  slovenly  undress  ?  Am  I  to  bestow 
applause  on  some  insignificant  parade  of  erudition,  and 
withhold  blame  from  the  stupidities  of  style  which  sur- 
round it  ? 

139.  Had  there  been  a  clear  understanding  of  Style  as 
the  living  body  of  thought,  and  not  its  "dress,"  which 
might  be  more  or  less  ornamental,  the  error  I  am  noticing 
would  not  have  spread  so  widely.  But,  naturally,  when 
men  regarded  the  grace  of  style  as  mere  grace  of  manner, 
and  not  as  the  delicate  precision  giving  form  and  relief  to 
matter  —  as  mere  ornament,  stuck  on  to  arrest  incurious 
eyes,  and  not  as  effective  expression  —  their  sense  of  the 
deeper  value  of  matter  made  them  despise  such  aid.  A 
clearer  conception  would  have  rectified  this  error.  The 
matter  is  confluent  with  the  manner;  and  only  through  the 
style  can  thought  reach  the  reader's  mind.  If  the  manner 
is  involved,  awkward,  abrupt,  obscure,  the  reader  will  either 
be  02)pressed  with  a  confused  sense  of  cumbrous  material 
which  awaits  an  artist  to  give  it  shape,  or  he  will  have  the 
labour  thrown  upon  him  of  extricating  the  material  and 
reshaping  it  in  his  own  mind. 

140.  How  entirely  men  misconceive  the  relation  of  style 
to  thought  may  be  seen  in  the  replies  they  make  when 
their  writing  is  objected  to,  or  in  the  ludicrous  attempts  of 
clumsy  playfulness  and  tawdry  eloquence  when  they  wish 
to  be  regarded  as  writers. 

"  Le  style  le  inoins  noble  a  pourtant  sa  noblesse,"  i 

and  the  principle  of  Sincerity,  not  less  than  the  suggestions 
of  taste,  will  preserve  the  integrity  of  each  style.     A  phi- 

i  Boilean,  '  L'Art  poetique,'  L,  1.  80. 


The  Principle  of  Beauty.  121 

losopher,  an  investigator,  an  historian,  or  a  moralist  so  far 
from  being  required  to  present  the  graces  of  a  wit,  an 
essayist,  a  pamphleteer,  or  a  novelist,  would  be  warned  off 
such  ground  by  the  necessity  of  expressing  himself  sin- 
cerely. Pascal,  Biot,  Buffon,  or  Laplace  are  examples  of 
the  clearness  and  beauty  with  which  ideas  may  be  pre- 
sented wearing  all  the  graces  of  fine  literature,  and  losing 
none  of  the  severity  of  science.  Bacon,  also,  having  an 
opulent  and  active  intellect,  spontaneously  expressed  him- 
self in  forms  of  various  excellence.  But  what  a  pitiable 
contrast  is  presented  by  Kant !  It  is  true  that  Kant  having 
a  much  narrower  range  of  sensibility  could  have  no  such 
ample  resource  of  expression,  and  he  was  wise  in  not  at- 
tempting to  rival  the  splendour  of  the  '  Novum  Organum ' ; 
but  he  was  not  simply  unwise,  he  was  extremely  culpable  in 
sending  forth  his  thoughts  as  so  much  raw  material  which 
the  public  was  invited  to  put  into  shape  as  it  could.  Had 
he  been  aware  that  much  of  his  bad  writing  was  imperfect 
thinking,  and  always  imperfect  adaptation  of  means  to  ends, 
he  might  have  been  induced  to  recast  it  into  more  logical 
and  more  intelligible  sentences,  which  would  have  stimulated 
the  reader's  mind  as  much  as  they  now  oppress  it.  Nor  had 
Kant  the  excuse  of  a  subject  too  abstruse  for  clear  presenta- 
tion. The  examples  of  Descartes,  Spinoza,  Hobbes,  and 
Hume  are  enough  to  show  how  such  subjects  can  be  mas- 
tered, and  the  very  implication  of  writing  a  book  is  that 
the  writer  has  mastered  his  material  and  can  give  it  intelli- 
gible form.^ 

141.  A  grave  treatise,  dealing  with  a  narrow  range  of 
subjects  or  moving  amid  severe  abstractions,  demands  a 
gravity  and  severity  of  style  which  is  dissimilar  to  that 
demanded  by  subjects  of  a  wider  scope  or  more  impassioned 
impulse;  but  abstract  philosophy  has  its  appropriate  ele- 

1  Cf.  De  Quincey's  essay  on  'Style,'  Part  I.,  on  'Rhetoric,'  and  on 
'  Language.' 


122         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

gance  no  less  than  mathematics.  I  do  not  mean  that  each 
subject  should  necessarily  be  confined  to  one  special  mode 
of  treatment,  in  the  sense  which  was  understood  when  peo- 
ple spoke  of  the  "dignity  of  history/'  and  so  forth.  The 
style  must  express  the  writer's  mind ;  and  as  variously 
constituted  minds  will  treat  one  and  the  same  subject, 
there  will  be  varieties  in  their  styles.  If  a  severe  thinker 
be  also  a  man  of  wit,  like  Bacon,  Hobbes,  Pascal,  or 
Galileo,  the  wit  will  flash  its  sudden  illuminations  on 
the  argument ;  but  if  he  be  not  a  man  of  wit,  and  conde- 
scends to  jest  under  the  impression  that  by  jesting  he  is 
giving  an  airy  grace  to  his  argument,  we  resent  it  as  an 
impertinence. 

iv.    Style  in  the  Sense  of  Treatment. 

142.  I  have  throughout  used  Style  in  the  narrower  sense 
of  expression  rather  than  in  the  wider  sense  of  "treatment" 
which  is  sometimes  affixed  to  it.  The  mode  of  treating  a 
subject  is  also  no  doubt  the  writer's  or  the  artist's  way  of 
expressing  what  is  in  his  mind,  but  this  is  Style  in  the  more 
general  sense,  and  does  not  admit  of  being  reduced  to  laws 
apart  from  those  of  Vision  and  Sincerity.  A  man  neces- 
sarily sees  a  subject  in  a  particular  light — ideal  or  gro- 
tesque, familiar  or  fanciful,  tragic  or  humorous.  He  may 
w^ander  into  fairy-land,  or  move  amid  representative  abstrac- 
tions ;  he  may  follow  his  wayward  fancy  in  its  grotesque 
combinations,  or  he  may  settle  down  amid  the  homeliest 
details  of  daily  life.  But  having  chosen  he  must  be  true  to 
his  choice.  He  is  not  allowed  to  represent  fairy-land  as  if 
it  resembled  Walworth,  nor  to  paint  Walworth  in  the  col- 
ours of  Venice.  The  truth  of  consistency  must  be  preserved 
in  his  treatment,  truth  in  art  meaning  of  course  only  truth 
within  the  limits  of  the  art ;  thus  the  painter  may  produce 
the  utmost  relief  he  can  by  means  of  light  and  shade,  but  it 


The  Principle  of  Beauty.  123 

is  peremptorily  forbidden  to  use  actual  solidities  on  a 
plane  surface.  He  must  represent  gold  by  colour,  not  by 
sticking  gold  on  his  figures.^  Our  applause  is  greatly  de- 
termined by  our  sense  of  difficulty  overcome,  and  to  stick 
gold  on  a  picture  is  an  avoidance  of  the  difficulty  of  paint- 
ing it. 

143.  Truth  of  presentation  has  an  inexplicable  charm 
for  us,  and  throws  a  halo  around  even  ignoble  objects.  A 
policeman  idly  standing  at  the  corner  of  the  street,  or  a  sow 
lazily  sleeping  against  the  sun,  are  not  in  nature  objects  to 
excite  a  thrill  of  delight,  but  a  painter  may,  by  the  cunning 
of  his  art,  represent  them  so  as  to  delight  every  spectator. 
The  same  objects  represented  by  an  inferior  painter  will 
move  only  a  languid  interest ;  by  a  still  more  inferior 
painter  they  may  be  represented  so  as  to  please  none  but  the 
most  uncultivated  eye.  Each  spectator  is  charmed  in  pro- 
portion to  his  recognition  of  a  triumph  over  difficulty  which 
is  measured  by  the  degree  of  verisimilitude.  The  degrees 
are  many.  In  the  lowest  the  pictured  object  is  so  remote 
from  the  reality  that  we  simply  recognise  what  the  artist 
meant  to  represent.  In  like  manner  we  recognise  in  poor 
novels  and  dramas  what  the  authors  mean  to  be  characters, 
rather  than  what  our  experience  of  life  suggests  as  charac-; 
teristic. 

144.  Not  only  do  we  apportion  our  applause  according  to 
the  degree  of  verisimilitude  attained,  but  also  according  to 
the  difficulty  each  involves.  It  is  a  higher  difficulty,  and 
implies  a  nobler  art  to  represent  the  movement  and  com- 
plexity of  life  and  emotion  than  to  catch  the  fixed  linea- 
ments of  outward  aspect.     To  paint  a  policeman  idly  loung- 


1  This  was  done  with  naivete  by  the  early  painters,  and  is  really  very 
effective  in  the  pictures  of  Gentile  da  Fabriano  — that  Paul  Veronese  of  the 
fifteenth  century —  as  the  reader  will  confess  if  he  has  seen  the  '  Adoration 
of  the  Magi,'  in  the  Florence  Academy;  but  it  could  not  be  tolerated 
now.-G.H.  L. 


124         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

ing  at  the  street  corner  with  such  verisimilitude  that  we  are 
pleased  with  the  representation,  admiring  the  solidity  of  the 
figure,  the  texture  of  the  clothes,  and  the  human  aspect  of 
the  features,  is  so  difficult  that  we  loudly  applaud  the  skill 
which  enables  an  artist  to  imitate  what  in  itself  is  uninter- 
esting ;  and  if  the  imitation  be  carried  to  a  certain  degree  of 
verisimilitude  the  jjicture  may  be  of  immense  value.  But 
no  excellence  of  representation  can  make  this  high  art.  To 
carry  it  into  the  region  of  high  art,  another  and  far  greater 
difficulty  must  be  overcome ;  the  man  must  be  represented 
under  the  strain  of  great  emotion,  and  we  must  recognise  an 
equal  truthfulness  in  the  subtle  indications  of  great  mental 
agitation,  the  fleeting  characters  of  which  are  far  less  easy 
to  observe  and  to  reproduce,  than  the  stationary  characters 
of  form  and  costume.  We  may  often  observe  how  the  nov- 
elist or  dramatist  has  tolerable  success  so  l5ng  as  his  x^er- 
sonages  are  quiet,  or  moved  only  by  the  vulgar  motives  of 
ordinary  life,  and  how  fatally  uninteresting,  because  unreal, 
these  very  personages  become  as  soon  as  they  are  exhibited 
under  the  stress  of  emotion :  their  language  ceases  at  once 
to  be  truthful,  and  becomes  stagey;  their  conduct  is  no 
longer  recognisable  as  that  of  human  beings  such  as  we  have 
known.  Here  we  note  a  defect  of  treatment,  a  mingling  of 
styles,  arising  partly  from  defect  of  vision,  and  partly  from 
an  imperfect  sincerity  ;  and  success  in  art  will  always  be 
found  dependent  on  integrity  of  style.  The  Dutch  painters, 
so  admirable  in  their  own  style,  would  become  pitiable  on 
quitting  it  for  a  higher. 

145.  But  I  need  not  enter  at  any  length  upon  this  sub- 
ject of  treatment.  Obviously  a  work  must  have  charm  or 
it  cannot  succeed ;  and  the  charm  will  depend  on  very 
complex  conditions  in  the  artist's  mind.  What  treatment 
is  in  Art,  composition  is  in  Philosophy.  The  general  con- 
ception of  the  point  of  view,  and  the  skilful  distribution  of 
the  masses,  so  as  to  secure  the  due  preparation,  develop- 


•    The  Pinnciple  of  Beauty.  125 

nient,  and  culmination,  without  wasteful  prodigality  or 
confusing  want  of  symmetry,  constitute  Composition, 
which  is  to  the  structure  of  a  treatise  what  Style  —  in 
the  narrower  sense  —  is  to  the  structure  of  sentences. 
How  far  Style  is  reducible  to  law  will  be  examined  in 
the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  LAWS   OF   STYLE, 
i.    Method  of  Inquiry. 

146.  From  what  was  said  in  the  preceding  chapter,  the 
reader  will  understand  that  our  present  inquiry  is  only  into 
the  laws  which  regulate  the  mechanism  of  Style.  In  such 
an  analysis  all  that  constitutes  the  individuality,  the  life, 
the  charm  of  a  great  writer,  must  escape.  But  we  may 
dissect  Style,  as  we  dissect  an  organism,  and  lay  bare  the 
fundamental  laws  by  which  each  is  regulated.  And  this 
analogy  may  indicate  the  utility  of  our  attempt ;  the  grace 
and  luminousness  of  a  happy  talent  will  no  more  be  acquired 
by  a  knowledge  of  these  laws,  than  the  force  and  elasticity 
of  a  healthy  organism  will  be  given  by  a  knowledge  of 
anatomy ;  but  the  mistakes  in  Style,  and  the  diseases  of 
the  organism,  may  be  often  avoided,  and  sometimes  reme- 
died, by  such  knowledge. 

147.  On  a  subject  like  this,  which  has  for  many  years 
engaged  the  researches  of  many  minds,  I  shall  not  be  ex- 
pected to  bring  forward  discoveries  ;  indeed,  novelty  would 
not  unjustly  be  suspected  of  fallacy.  The  only  claim  my 
exposition  can  have  on  the  reader's  attention  is  that  of 
being  an  attempt  to  systematise  what  has  been  hitherto 
either  empirical  observation,  or  the  establishment  of  critical 
rules  on  a  false  basis.  T  know  but  of  one  exception  to  this 
sweeping  censure,  and  that  is  the  essay  on  the  'Philosophy 
of  Style,'  by  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer,^  where  for  the  first  time, 

1  Spencer's  essay  first  appeared  in  the  Westminster  Revieio  for  October, 
1852.    It  has  been  republished  in  '  Essays  :  Scientific,  Political,  and  Specu- 
126 


The  Laivs  of  Style.  127 

I  believe,  the  right  method  was  pursued  of  seeking  in 
psychological  conditions  for  the  true  laws  of  expression. 

148.  The  aims  of  Literature  being  instruction  and  de- 
light. Style  must  in  varying  degrees  appeal  to  our  intellect 
and  our  sensibilities :  sometimes  reaching  the  intellect 
through  the  presentation  of  simple  ideas,  and  at  others 
through  the  agitating  influence  of  emotions;  sometimes 
awakening  the  sensibilities  through  the  reflexes  of  ideas, 
and  sometimes  through  a  direct  appeal.  A  truth  may  be 
nakedly  expressed  so  as  to  stir  the  intellect  alone;  or  it 
may  be  expressed  in  terms  which,  without  disturbing  its 
clearness,  may  appeal  to  our  sensibility  by  their  harmony 
or  energy.  It  is  not  possible  to  distinguish  the  combined 
influences  of  clearness,  movement,  and  harmony,  so  as  to 
assign  to  each  its  relative  effect ;  and  if  in  the  ensuing 
pages  one  law  is  isolated  from  another,  this  must  be  under- 
stood as  an  artifice  inevitable  in  such  investigations. 

149.  There  are  five  laws  under  which  all  the  conditions  of  Style 
may  be  grouped :  — 

1.  The  Law  of  Economy. 

2.  The  Law  of  Simplicity. 

3.  The  Law  of  Sequence. 

4.  The  Law  of  Climax. 

5.  The  Law  of  Variety. 

150.  It  would  be  easy  to  reduce  these  five  to  three,  and 
range  all  considerations  under  Economy,  Climax,  and  Variety ; 
or  we  might  amplify  the  divisions  ;  but  there  are  reasons 
of  convenience  as  well  as  symmetry  which  give  a  preference 
to  the  five.  I  had  arranged  them  thus  for  convenience 
some  years  ago,  and  I  now  find  they  express  the  equiva- 

lative,'  iu  'Essays:  Moral,  Political,  and  Esthetic,'  and  as  a  separate  vol- 
ume. It  is  also  inserted  in  Boyd's  edition  of  Lord  Karnes's  'Elements  of 
Criticism,'  The  Principle  of  Economy,  first  enunciated  in  this  essay,  has 
been  commonly  accepted  by  rhetoricians  as  a  genuine  contribution  to  the 
theory  of  Style. 


128         The  Pri72ciples  of  Success  in  Literature. 

lence  of  the  two  great  factors  of  Style  —  Intelligence  and 
Sensibility.  Two  out  of  the  five,  Economy  and  Simplicity, 
more  specially  derive  their  significance  from  intellectual 
needs ;  another  two,  Climax  and  Variety,  from  emotional 
needs ;  and  between  these  is  the  Law  of  Sequence,  which  is 
intermediate  in  its  nature,  and  may  be  claimed  with  equal 
justice  by  both.  The  laws  of  force  and  the  laws  of  pleasure 
can  only  be  provisionally  isolated  in  our  inquiry ;  in  style 
they  are  blended.  The  following  brief  estimate  of  each 
considers  it  as  an  isolated  principle  undetermined  by  any 
other. 

ii.    The  Law  of  Economy. 

151.  Our  inquiry  is  scientific,  not  empirical ;  it  therefore 
seeks  the  psychological  basis  for  every  law,  endeavouring 
to  ascertain  what  condition  of  a  reader's  receptivity  de- 
termines the  law.  Fortunately  for  us,  in  the  case  of  the 
first  and  most  important  law  the  psychological  basis  is 
extremely  simple,  and  may  be  easily  appreciated  by  a 
reference  to  its  analogue  in  Mechanics. 

152.  What  is  the  first  object  of  a  machine  ?  ^  Effective 
work  —  vis  viva.  Every  means  by  which  friction  can  be 
reduced,  and  the  force  thus  economised  be  rendered  availa- 
ble, necessarily  solicits  the  constructor's  care.  He  seeks 
as  far  as  possible  to  liberate  the  motion  which  is  absorbed 
in  the  working  of  the  machine,  and  to  use  it  as  vis  viva. 
He  knows  that  every  superfluous  detail,  every  retarding 
influence,  is  at  the  cost  of  so  much  power,  and  is  a  mechani- 
cal defect  though  it  may  perhaps  be  an  aesthetic  beauty  or 
a  practical  convenience.  He  may  retain  it  because  of  the 
beauty,  because  of  the  convenience,  but  he  knows  the  price 
of  effective  power  at  which  it  is  obtained. 

1  The  substance  of  this  paragraph  and  the  following  one  is  taken  directly 
from  Spencer's  essay. 


The  Laivs  of  Style.  129 

153.  And  thus  it  stands  with  Style.  The  first  object  of 
a  writer  is  effective  expression,  the  power  of  communicating 
distinct  thoughts  and  emotional  suggestions.  He  has  to 
overcome  the  friction  of  ignorance  and  pre-occupation.  He 
has  to  arrest  a  wandering  attention,  and  to  clear  away  the 
misconceptions  which  cling  around  verbal  symbols.  Words 
are  not  like  iron  and  wood,  coal  and  water,  invariable  in 
their  properties,  calculable  in  their  effects.  They  are 
mutable  in  their  powers,  deriving  force  and  subtle  variations 
of  force  from  very  trifling  changes  of  position ;  colouring 
and  coloured  by  the  words  which  precede  and  succeed; 
significant  or  insignificant  from  the  powers  of  rhythm  and 
cadence.  It  is  the  writer's  art  so  to  arrange  words  that 
they  shall  suffer  the  least  possible  retardation  from  the 
inevitable  friction  of  the  reader's  mind.  The  analogy  of  a 
machine  is  perfect.  In  both  cases  the  object  is  to  secure 
the  maximum  of  disposable  force,  by  diminishing  the  amount 
absorbed  in  the  working.  Obviously,  if  a  reader  is  engaged 
in  extricating  the  meaning  from  a  sentence  which  ought  to 
have  reflected  its  meaning  as  in  a  mirror,  the  mental  energy 
thus  employed  is  abstracted  from  the  amount  of  force  which 
he  has  to  bestow  on  the  subject ;  he  has  mentally  to  form 
anew  the  sentence  which  has  been  clumsily  formed  by  the 
writer;  he  wastes,  on  interpretation  of  the  symbols,  force 
which  might  have  been  concentrated  on  meditation  of  the 
propositions.  This  waste  is  inappreciable  in  writing  of 
ordinary  excellence,  and  on  subjects  not  severely  tasking  to 
the  attention ;  but  if  inappreciable,  it  is  always  waste  ;  and 
in  bad  writing,  especially  on  topics  of  philosophy  and 
science,  the  waste  is  important.  And  it  is  this  which 
greatly  narrows  the  circle  for  serious  works.  Interest  in 
the  subjects  treated  of  may  not  be  wanting;  but  the  abun- 
dant energy  is  wanting  which  to  the  fatigue  of  consecutive 
thinking  will  add  the  labour  of  deciphering  the  language. 
Many  of  us  are  but  too  familiar  with  the  fatigue  of  recon- 


130        The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

structing  unwieldy  sentences  in  which  the  clauses  are  not 
logically  dependent,  nor  the  terms  free  from  equivoque ; 
we  know  what  it  is  to  have  to  hunt  for  the  meaning  hidden 
in  a  maze  of  words  ;  and  we  can  understand  the  yawning 
indifference  which  must  soon  settle  upon  every  reader  of 
such  writing,  unless  he  has  some  strong  external  impulse  or 
abundant  energy. 

154.  Economy  dictates  that  the  meaning  should  be  presented  in 
a  form  which  claims  the  least  possible  attention  to  itself  as  form, 
unless  when  that  form  is  part  of  the  writer's  object,  and  when  the 
simple  thought  is  less  important  than  the  manner  of  presenting  it. 
And  even  when  the  manner  is  playful  or  impassioned,  the 
law  of  Economy  still  presides,  and  insists  on  the  rejection 
of  whatever  is  superfluous.  Only  a  delicate  susceptibility 
can  discriminate  a  superfluity  in  passages  of  humour  or 
rhetoric ;  but  elsewhere  a  very  ordinary  understanding  can 
recognise  the  clauses  and  the  epithets  which  are  out  of 
place,  and  in  excess,  retarding  or  confusing  the  direct  appre- 
ciation of  the  thought.  If  we  have  written  a  clumsy  or 
confused  sentence,  w^e  shall  often  find  that  the  removal  of 
an  awkward  inversion  liberates  the  idea,  or  that  the  modi- 
fication of  a  cadence  increases  the  effect.  This  is  sometimes 
strikingly  seen  at  the  rehearsal  of  a  play :  a  passage  which 
has  fallen  flat  upon  the  ear  is  suddenly  brightened  into 
effectiveness  by  the  removal  of  a  superfluous  phrase,  which, 
by  its  retarding  influence,  had  thwarted  the  declamatory 
crescendo. 

155.  Young  writers  may  learn  something  of  the  secrets 
of  Economy  by  careful  revision  of  their  own  compositions, 
and  by  careful  dissection  of  passages  selected  both  from 
good  and  bad  writers.  They  have  simply  to  strike  out  every 
word,  every  clause,  and  every  sentence,  the  removal  of 
which  will  not  carry  away  any  of  the  constituent  elements 
of  the  thought.  Having  done  this,  let  them  compare  the 
revised  with  the  unrevised  passages,  and  see  where  the 


The  Laws  of  Style.  131 

excision  has  improved,  and  where  it  has  injured,  the  effect. 
For  Economy,  although  a  primal  law,  is  not  the  only  law 
of  Style.  It  is  subject  to  various  limitations  from  the  press- 
ure of  other  laws ;  and  thus  the  removal  of  a  trifling  super- 
fluity will  not  be  justified  by  a  wise  economy  if  that  loss 
entails  a  dissonance,  or  prevents  a  climax,  or  robs  the 
expression  of  its  ease  and  variety.  Economy  is  rejection 
of  whatever  is  superfluous  ;  it  is  not  Miserliness.  A  liberal 
expenditure  is  often  the  best  economy,  and  is  always  so 
when  dictated  by  a  generous  impulse,  not  by  a  prodigal 
carelessness  or  ostentatious  vanity.  That  man  would  greatly 
err  who  tried  to  make  his  style  effective  by  stripping  it  of 
all  redundancy  and  ornament,  presenting  it  naked  before 
the  indifferent  public.  Perhaps  the  very  redundancy  which 
he  lops  away  might  have  aided  the  reader  to  see  the  thought 
more  clearly,  because  it  would  have  kept  the  thought  a 
little  longer  before  his  mind,  and  thus  prevented  him  from 
hurrying  on  to  the  next  while  this  one  was  still  imperfectly 
conceived. 

156.  As  a  general  rule,  redundancy  is  injurious ;  and  the 
reason  of  the  rule  will  enable  us  to  discriminate  when 
redundancy  is  injurious  and  when  beneficial.  It  is  injurious 
when  it  hampers  the  rapid  movement  of  the  reader's  mind, 
diverting  his  attention  to  some  collateral  detail.  But  it  is 
beneficial  when  its  retarding  influence  is  such  as  only  to 
detain  the  mind  longer  on  the  thought,  and  thus  to  secure 
the  fuller  effect  of  the  thought.  For  rapid  reading  is  often 
imperfect  reading.  The  mind  is  satisfied  with  a  glimpse  of 
that  which  it  ought  to  have  steadily  contemplated ;  and  any 
artifice  by  which  the  thought  can  be  kept  long  enough 
before  the  mind,  may  indeed  be  a  redundancy  as  regards 
the  meaning,  but  is  an  economy  of  power.  Thus  we  see 
that  the  phrase  or  the  clause  which  we  might  be  tempted 
to  lop  away  because  it  threw  no  light  upon  the  proposition, 
would  be  retained   by  a  skilful  writer   because  it  added 


132         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

power.  You  may  know  the  character  of  a  redundancy  by 
this  one  test :  does  it  divert  the  attention,  or  simply  retard 
it  ?  The  former  is  always  a  loss  of  power  ;  the  latter  is 
sometimes  a  gain  of  power.  The  art  of  the  writer  consists 
in  rejecting  all  redundancies  that  do  not  conduce  to  clear- 
ness. The  shortest  sentences  are  not  necessarily  the  clear- 
est. Concision  gives  energy,  but  it  also  adds  restraint. 
The  labour  of  expanding  a  terse  sentence  to  its  full  meaning 
is  often  greater  than  the  labour  of  picking  out  the  meaning 
from  a  diffuse  and  loitering  passage.  Tacitus  is  more  tire- 
some than  Cicero. 

157.  There  are  occasions  when  the  simplest  and  fewest 
words  surpass  in  effect  all  the  wealth  of  rhetorical  ampli- 
fication. An  example  may  be  seen  in  the  passage  which 
has  been  a  favourite  illustration  from  the  days  of  Longinus  ^ 
to  our  own.  "  God  said :  Let  there  be  light !  and  there 
was  light."  This  is  a  conception  of  power  so  calm  and 
simple  that  it  needs  only  to  be  presented  in  the  fewest 
and  the  plainest  words,  and  would  be  confused  or  weak- 
ened by  any  suggestion  of  accessories.  Let  us  amplify 
the  expressions  in  the  redundant  style  of  miscalled  elo- 
quent Avriters :  "God,  in  the  magnificent  fulness  of  crea- 
tive energy,  exclaimed :  Let  there  be  light !  and  lo !  the 
agitating  fiat  immediately  went  forth,  and  thus  in  one 
indivisible  moment  the  whole  universe  was  illumined." 
We  have  here  a  sentence  which  I  am  certain  many  a 
writer  would,  in  secret,  prefer  to  the  masterly  plainness 

1  "  The  Sublime  is  an  image  reflected  from  the  inward  greatness  of  the 
soul.  Hence  it  comes  to  pass  that  a  naked  thought  without  words  chal- 
lenges admiration  and  strikes  by  its  grandeur.  Such  is  the  silence  of  Ajax 
in  the' Odyssey,' which  is  undoubtedly  noble,  and  far  above  expression.  .  .  . 
So  likewise  the  Jewish  legislator,  no  ordinary  person,  having  conceived  a 
just  idea  of  the  power  of  God,  has  nobly  expressed  it  in  the  beginning  of 
his  law.  'And  God  said,  — what?  — Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was 
light.  Let  the  earth  be,  and  the  earth  was.'  "  —  Longinus, '  On  the  Sublime,' 
Sect.  IX.,  Smith's  Translation. 


The  Laivs  of  Style.  133 

of  Genesis.     It  is  not  a  sentence  which  would  have  capti- 
vated critics.^ 

158.  Although  this  sentence  from  Genesis  is  sublime  in 
its  simplicity,  we  are  not  to  conclude  that  simple  sentences 
are  uniformly  the  best,  or  that  a  style  composed  of  proposi- 
tions briefly  expressed  would  obey  a  wise  Economy.  The 
reader's  pleasure  must  not  be  forgotten ;  and  he  cannot  be 
pleased  by  a  style  which  always  leaps  and  never  flows.  A 
harsh,  abrupt,  and  dislocated  manner  irritates  and  perplexes 
him  by  its  sudden  jerks.  It  is  easier  to  write  short  sen- 
tences than  to  read  them.  An  eas}^,  fluent,  and  harmonious 
phrase  steals  unobtrusively  upon  the  mind,  and  allows  the 
thought  to  expand  quietly  like  an  opening  flower.^  But  the 
very  suasiveness  of  harmonious  writing  needs  to  be  varied 
lest  it  become  a  drowsy  monotony  ;  and  the  sharp,  short  sen- 
tences which  are  intolerable  when  abundant,  when  used 
sparingly  act  like  a  trumpet-call  to  the  drooping  atten- 
tion. 

iii.    The  Laiv  of  Simplicity. 

159.  The  first  obligation  of  Economy  is  that  of  using  the 
fewest  words  to  secure  the  fullest  effect.  It  rejects  what- 
ever is  superfluous  ;  but  the  question  of  superfluity  must,  as 
I  showed  just  now,  be  determined  in  each  individual  case 
by  various  conditions  too  complex  and  numerous  to  be 
reduced  within  a  formula.  The  same  may  be  said  of 
Simplicity,  which  is  indeed  so  intimately  allied  with 
Economy  that  I  have  only  given  it  a  separate  station  for 
j)urposes  of  convenience.     The  ^psychological  basis  is  the 

1  "  I  am  rather  proud  of  the  short  sentence  in  the  '  Harbours  of  England/ 
describing  a  great  bi'eaker  against  rock,  — '  One  moment  a  flint  cave,  —  the 
next  a  marble  pillar,  —  the  next,  a  fading  cloud.'  "  —  Ruskin,  notes  to  Vol.  I. 
of  '  Modern  Painters.' 

2  This  and  the  two  preceding  sentences  are  obviously  intended  to  furnish 
illustrations  of  the  styles  that  they  describe. 


134         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literatwe. 

same  for  both.  The  desire  for  simplicity  is  impatience  at 
superfluity,  and  the  impatience  arises  from  a  sense  of  hin- 
drance. 

160.  The  first  obhgation  of  Simphcity  is  that  of  using  the  sim- 
plest means  to  secure  the  fullest  effect.  But  although  the  mind 
instinctively  rejects  all  needless  complexity,  we  shall  greatly 
err  if  we  fail  to  recognise  the  fact,  that  what  the  mind 
recoils  from  is  not  the  complexity,  but  the  needlessness. 
When  two  men  are  set  to  the  work  of  one,  there  is  a  waste 
of  means ;  when  two  phrases  are  used  to  express  one  mean- 
ing twice,  there  is  a  waste  of  power;  when  incidents  are 
multiplied  and  illustrations  crowded  without  increase  of 
illumination,  there  is  prodigality  which  only  the  vulgar  can 
mistake  for  opulence.  Simplicity  is  a  relative  term.  If  in 
sketching  the  head  of  a  man  the  artist  wishes  only  to  convey 
the  general  characteristics  of  that  head,  the  fewest  touches 
show  the  greatest  power,  selecting  as  they  do  only  those 
details  Avhich  carry  with  them  characteristic  significance. 
The  means  are  simple,  as  the  effect  is  simple.  But  if, 
besides  the  general  characteristics,  he  wishes  to  convey  the 
modelling  of  the  forms,  the  play  of  light  and  shade,  the  tex- 
tures, and  the  very  complex  effect  of  a  human  head,  he  must 
use  more  complex  means.  The  simplicity  which  was  ade- 
quate in  the  one  case  becomes  totally  inadequate  in  the 
other. 

161.  Obvious  as  this  is,  it  has  not  been  sufficiently  pres- 
ent to  the  mind  of  critics  who  have  called  for  plain,  famil- 
iar, and  concrete  diction,  as  if  that  alone  could  claim  to  be 
simple  ;  who  have  demanded  a  style  unadorned  by  the  arti- 
fices of  involution,  cadence,  imagery,  and  epigram,  as  if 
Simplicity  were  incompatible  with  these  ;  and  have  praised 
meagreness,  mistaking  it  for  Simplicity.  Saxon  words  are 
words  which  in  their  homeliness  have  deep-seated  power, 
and  in  some  places  they  are  the  simplest  because  the  most 
powerful  words  we  can  employ ;  but  their  very  homeliness 


The  Lmus  of  Style,  135 

excludes  them  from  certain  places  where  their  very  power 
of  suggestion  is  a  disturbance  of  the  general  effect.  The 
selective  instinct  of  the  artist  tells  him  when  his  language 
should  be  homely,  and  when  it  should  be  more  elevated; 
and  it  is  precisely  in  the  imperceptible  blending  of  the 
plain  with  the  ornate  that  a  great  writer  is  distinguished. 
He  uses  the  simplest  phrases  without  triviality,  and  the 
grandest  without  a  suggestion  of  grandiloquence. 

162.  Simplicity  of  Style  will  therefore  be  understood  as 
meaning  absence  of  needless  superfluity  : 

"  Without  o'erflowing  full."  i 

Its  plainness  is  never  meagreness,  but  unity.  Obedient  to 
the  primary  impulse  of  adequate  expression,  the  style  of  a 
complex  subject  should  be  complex;  of  a  technical  subject, 
technical ;  of  an  abstract  subject,  abstract ;  of  a  familiar 
subject,  familiar;  of  a  pictorial  subject,  picturesque.  The 
structure  of  the  '  Antigone '  is  simple  ;  but  so  also  is  the 
structure  of  ^  Othello,'  though  it  contains  many  more  ele- 
ments ;  the  simplicity  of  both  lies  in  their  fulness  without 
superfluity. 

163.  AVhatever  is  outside  the  purpose,  or  the  feeling,  of 
a  scene,  a  speech,  a  sentence,  or  a  phrase,  whatever  may  be 
omitted  without  sacrifice  of  effect,  is  a  sin  against  this  law. 
I  do  not  say  that  the  incident,  description,  or  dialogue, 
which  may  be  omitted  without  injury  to  the  unity  of  the 
work,  is  necessarily  a  sin  against  art ;  still  less  that,  even 
when  acknowledged  as  a  sin,  it  may  not  sometimes  be  con- 
doned by  its  success.  The  law  of  Simplicity  is  not  the 
only  law  of  art ;  and,  moreover,  audiences  are,  unhappily, 

1  Address  to  the  Thames,  iu  Denham's  '  Cooper's  Hill ' :  — 

"  O  could  I  flow  like  thee,  and  make  thy  stream 
My  great  example,  as  it  is  my  theme! 
Though  deep  yet  clear,  though  gentle  yet  not  dull. 
Strong  without  rage,  without  o'erflowing  full." 


136         The  Princqjles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

so  little  accustomed  to  judge  works  as  wholes,  and  so  ready 
to  seize  upon  any  detail  which  pleases  them,  no  matter  how 
incongruously  the  detail  may  be  placed/  that  a  felicitous 
fault  will  captivate  applause,  let  critics  shake  reproving 
heads  as  they  may.  Nevertheless  the  law  of  Simplicity 
remains  unshaken,  and  ought  only  to  give  way  to  the  press- 
ure of  the  law  of  Variety. 

164.  The  drama  offers  a  good  opportunity  for  studying 
the  operation  of  this  law,  because  the  limitations  of  time 
compel  the  dramatist  to  attend  closely  to  what  is  and  what 
is  not  needful  for  his  purpose.  A  drama  must  compress 
into  two  or  three  hours  material  which  may  be  diffused 
through  three  volumes  of  a  novel,  because  spectators  are 
more  impatient  than  readers,  and  more  unequivocally  resent 
by  their  signs  of  weariness  any  disregard  of  economy,  which 
in  the  novel  may  be  skipped.  The  dramatist  having  little 
time  in  which  to  evolve  his  story,  feels  that  every  scene 
which  does  not  forward  the  progress  of  the  action  or  inten- 
sify the  interest  in  the  characters  is  an  artistic  defect;^ 
though  in  itself  it  may  be  charmingly  written,  and  may 
excite  applause,  it  is  away  from  his  immediate  purpose. 
And  what  is  true  of  purposeless  scenes  and  characters  which 
divert  the  current  of  progress,  is  equally  true,  in  a  minor 
degree,  of  speeches  and  sentences  which  arrest  the  culmi- 
nating interest  by  calling  attention  away  to  other  objects. 
It  is  an  error  which  arises  from  a  deficient  earnestness  on 
the  writer's  part,  or  from  a  too  pliant  facility.  The  dram- 
atis 2^ersonce  wander  in  their  dialogue,  not  swayed  by  the 


1  "Was  hilffs,  wenn  ihr  ein  Gauzes  dargebracht? 

Das  Publikum  wird  es  euch  doch  zerpfliicken."  (Goethe.)  — G.  H.  L. 
'Faust,'  Vorspiel  cmf  dem  Theater,  11. 102-103. 

2  "  The  parts  of  the  actiou  must  be  so  arranged  that  if  any  be  transposed 
or  removed  the  whole  will  be  broken  up  and  disturbed ;  for  what  proves 
nothing  is  no  part  of  the  whole."  —  Aristotle,  '  Poetics,'  VIII.,  4,  Wharton's 
Translation. 


The  Laws  of  Style.  137 

fluctuations  of  feeling,  but  by  the  author's  desire  to  show 
his  wit  and  wisdom,  or  else  by  his  want  of  power  to  control 
the  vagrant  suggestions  of  his  fancy.  The  desire  for  dis- 
play and  the  inability  to  control  are  weaknesses  that  lead 
to  almost  every  transgression  of  Simplicity ;  but  sometimes 
the  transgressions  are  made  in  more  or  less  conscious  obe- 
dience to  the  law  of  Variety,  although  the  highest  reach  of 
art  is  to  secure  variety  by  an  opulent  simplicity. 

165.  The  novelist  is  not  under  the  same  limitations  of 
time,  nor  has  he  to  contend  against  the  same  mental  im- 
patience on  the  part  of  his  public.  He  may  therefore  linger 
where  the  dramatist  must  hurry ;  he  may  digress,  and  gain 
fresh  impetus  from  the  digression,  where  the  dramatist 
would  seriously  endanger  the  effect  of  his  scene  by  retard- 
ing its  evolution.  The  novelist  with  a  prudent  prodigality 
may  employ  descriptions,  dialogues,  and  episodes,  which 
would  be  fatal  in  a  drama.  Characters  may  be  introduced 
and  dismissed  without  having  any  important  connection 
with  the  plot ;  it  is  enough  if  they  serve  the  purpose  of  the 
chapter  in  which  they  appear.  Although  as  a  matter  of 
fine  art  no  character  should  have  a  place  in  a  novel  unless 
it  form  an  integral  element  of  the  story,  and  no  episode 
should  be  introduced  unless  it  reflects  some  strong  light  on 
the  characters  or  incidents,  this  is  a  critical  demand  which 
only  fine  artists  think  of  satisfying,  and  only  delicate  tastes 
appreciate.  For  the  mass  of  readers  it  is  enough  if  they 
are  amused ;  and  indeed  all  readers,  no  matter  how  critical 
their  taste,  would  rather  be  pleased  by  a  transgression  of 
the  law  than  wearied  by  prescription.^  Delight  condones 
offence.  The  only  qaestion  for  the  writer  is,  whether  the 
offence  is  so  trivial  as  to  be  submerged  in  the  delight.     And 

1  The  question  may  well  be  asked  at  this  point  whether  a  law  which 
must  sometimes  be  transgressed  in  order  to  achieve  the  very  end  for  wliich 
it  was  formulated,  can  be  properly  described  as  a  "  fundamental  law" 
(§  14G).    Cf.  this  law  with  the  Principle  of  Sincerity. 


138        The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

lie  will  do  well  to  remember  that  the  greater  flexibility  be- 
longing to  the  novel  by  no  means  removes  the  novel  from 
the  laws  which  rule  the  drama.  The  parts  of  a  novel 
should  have  organic  relations.  Push  the  licence  to  excess, 
and  stitch  together  a  volume  of  unrelated  chapters  —  a 
patchwork  of  descriptions,  dialogues,  and  incidents,  —  no 
one  will  call  that  a  novel ;  and  the  less  the  work  has  of 
this  unorganised  character  the  greater  will  be  its  value,  not 
only  in  the  eyes  of  critics,  but  in  its  effect  on  the  emotions 
of  the  reader. 

166.  Simplicity  of  structure  means  organic  unity,^ 
whether  the  organism  be  simple  or  complex ;  and  hence  in 
all  times  the  emphasis  which  critics  have  laid  upon  Sim- 
plicity, though  they  have  not  unfrequently  confounded  it 
with  narrowness  of  range.  In  like  manner,  as  we  said  just 
now,  Avhen  treating  of  diction  they  have  overlooked  the  fact 
that  the  simplest  must  be  that  which  best  expresses  the 
thought.  Simplicity  of  diction  is  integrity  of  speech  ;  that 
which  admits  of  least  equivocation,  that  which  by  the  clearest 
verbal  symbols  most  readily  calls  up  in  the  reader's  mind 
the  images  and  feelings  which  the  writer  wishes  to  call  up. 
Such  diction  may  be  concrete  or  abstract,  familiar  or  tech- 
nical ;  its  simplicity  is  determined  by  the  nature  of  the 
thought.  We  shall  often  be  simpler  in  using  abstract  and 
technical  terms  than  in  using  concrete  and  familiar  terms 
which  by  their  very  concreteness  and  familiarity  call  up 
images  and  feelings  foreign  to  our  immediate  purpose.  If 
we  desire  the  attention  to  fall  upon  some  general  idea  we 
only  blur  its  outlines  by  using  words  that  call  up  particu- 
lars. Thus,  although  it  may  be  needful  to  give  some  definite 
direction  to  the  reader's  thoughts  by  the  suggestion  of  a 
particular  fact,  we  must  be  careful  not  to  arrest  his  atten- 
tion on  the  fact  itself,  still  less  to  divert  it  by  calling  up 

1  The  other  laws  may  profitably  be  referred  to  this  fundamental  prin- 
ciple. 


The  Laws  of  Style.  139 

vivid  images  of  facts  unrelated  to  our  present  purpose. 
For  example,  I  wish  to  fix  in  the  reader's  mind  a  con- 
ception of  a  lonely  meditative  man  walking  on  the  sea- 
shore, and  I  fall  into  the  vicious  style  of  our  day  which 
is  lauded  as  word-painting,  and  write  something  like 
this :  — 

167.  "The  fishermen  mending  their  storm-beaten  boats 
upon  the  shore  would  lay  down  the  hammer  to  gaze  after 
him  as  he  passed  abstractedly  before  their  huts,  his  hair 
streaming  in  the  salt  breeze,  his  feet  crushing  the  scattered 
seaweed,  his  eyes  dreamily  fixed  upon  the  purple  heights  of 
the  precipitous  crags." 

168.  Now  it  is  obvious  that  the  details  here  assembled 
are  mostly  foreign  to  my  purpose,  which  has  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  fishermen,  storms,  boats,  seaweeds,  or 
purple  crags ;  and  by  calling  up  images  of  these  I  only 
divert  the  attention  from  my  thought.  Whereas,  if  it  had 
been  my  purpose  to  picture  the  scene  itself,  or  the  man's 
delight  in  it,  then  the  enumeration  of  details  would  give 
colour  and  distinctness  to  the  picture. 

169.  The  art  of  a  great  writer  is  seen  in  the  perfect  fit- 
ness of  his  expressions.  He  knows  how  to  blend  vividness 
with  vagueness,  knows  where  images  are  needed,  and  where 
by  their  vivacity  they  would  be  obstacles  to  the  rapid  ap- 
preciation of  his  thought.  The  value  of  concrete  illustra- 
tion artfully  used  may  be  seen  illustrated  in  a  passage  from 
Macaulay's  invective  against  Frederic  the  Great:  "On  the 
head  of  Frederic  is  all  the  blood  which  was  shed  in  a  war 
which  raged  during  many  years  and  in  every  quarter  of  the 
globe,  the  blood  of  the  column  at  Fontenoy,  the  blood  of 
the  mountaineers  who  were  slaughtered  at  Culloden.  The 
evils  produced  by  his  wickedness  were  felt  in  lands  where 
the  name  of  Prussia  was  unknown ;  and  in  order  that  he 
might  rob  a  neighbour  whom  he  had  promised  to  defend, 
black  men  fought  on  the  coast  of  Coromandel;  and  red  men 


140         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

scalped  each  other  by  the  Great  Lakes  of  Xorth  America."  ^ 
Disregarding  the  justice  or  injustice  of  the  thought,  note 
the  singuhar  force  and  beauty  of  this  passage,  delightful 
alike  to  ear  and  mind ;  and  observe  how  its  very  elaborate- 
ness has  the  effect  of  the  finest  simplicity,  because  the 
successive  pictures  are  constituents  of  the  general  thought, 
and  by  their  vividness  render  the  conclusion  more  impres- 
sive. Let  us  suppose  him  to  have  written  with  the  vague 
generality  of  expression  much  patronised  by  dignified  his- 
torians, and  told  us  that  "  Frederic  was  the  cause  of  great 
European  conflicts  extending  over  long  periods ;  and  in 
consequence  of  his  political  aggression  hideous  crimes  were 
perpetrated  in  the  most  distant  parts  of  the  globe."  This 
absence  of  concrete  images  would  not  have  been  simplicity, 
inasmuch  as  the  labour  of  converting  the  general  expres- 
sions into  definite  meanings  would  thus  have  been  thrown 
upon  the  reader. 

170.  Pictorial  illustration  has  its  dangers,  as  w^e  daily  see 
in  the  clumsy  imitators  of  Macaulay,  who  have  not  the  fine 
instinct  of  style,  but  obey  the  vulgar  instinct  of  display, 
and  imagine  they  can  produce  a  brilliant  effect  by  the  use 
of  strong  lights,  whereas  they  distract  the  attention  with 
images  alien  to  the  general  impression,  just  as  crude  col- 
ourists  vex  the  eye  with  importunate  splendours.  Nay, 
even  good  writers  sometimes  sacrifice  the  large  effect  of  a 
diffusive  light  to  the  small  effect  of  a  brilliant  point.  This 
is  a  defect  of  taste  frequently  noticeable  in  two  very  good 
writers,  De  Quincey  and  Ruskin,  whose  command  of  ex- 
pression is  so  varied  that  it  tempts  them  into  fioritura  as 
flexibility  of  voice  tempts  singers  to  sin  against  simplicity. 
At  the  close  of  an  eloquent  passage  De  Quincey  writes :  — 

171.  "Gravitation,  again,  that  works  without  holiday 
for  ever,  and  searches  every  corner  of  the  universe,  what 

1  Essay  on  '  Frederic  the  Great.' 


The  Laws  of  Style.  141 

intellect  can  follow  it  to  its  fountain  ?  And  yet,  shyer  than 
gravitation,  less  to  be  counted  than  the  fluxions  of  sun-dials, 
stealthier  than  the  growth  of  a  forest,  are  the  footsteps  of 
Christianity  amongst  the  political  workings  of  man."  ^ 

172.  The  association  of  holidays  and  shyness  with  an 
idea  so  abstract  as  that  of  gravitation,  the  use  of  the  learned 
word  fluxions  to  express  the  movements  of  the  shadows  on 
a  dial,  and  the  discordant  suggestion  of  stealthiness  applied 
to  vegetable  growth  and  Christianity,  are  so  many  offences 
against  simplicity.  Let  the  passage  be  contrasted  with  one 
in  which  wealth  of  imagery  is  in  accordance  with  the 
thought  it  expresses  :  — 

173.  '^  In  the  edifices  of  Man  there  should  be  found  rev- 
erent worship  and  following,  not  only  of  the  spirit  which 
rounds  the  pillars  of  the  forest,  and  arches  the  vault  of  the 
avenue  —  which  gives  veining  to  the  leaf  and  polish  to  the 
shell,  and  grace  to  every  pulse  that  agitates  animal  organ- 
ization—  but  of  that  also  which  reproves  the  pillars  of  the 
earth,  and  builds  up  her  barren  precipices  into  the  coldness 
of  the  clouds,  and  lifts  her  shadowy  cones  of  mountain  pur- 
ple into  the  pale  arch  of  the  sky ;  for  these,  and  other  glo- 
ries more  than  these,  refuse  not  to  connect  themselves,  in 
his  thoughts,  with  the  work  of  his  own  hand ;  the  grey  cliff 
loses  not  its  nobleness  when  it  reminds  us  of  some  Cyclo- 
pean waste  of  mural  stone ;  the  pinnacles  of  the  rocky 
promontory  arrange  themselves,  undegraded,  into  fantastic 
semblances  of  fortress  towers,  and  even  the  awful  cone  of 
the  far-off  mountain  has  a  melancholy  mixed  with  that  of 
its  own  solitude,  which  is  cast  from  the  images  of  nameless 
tumuli  on  white  sea-shores,  and  of  the  heaps  of  reedy  clay, 
into  which  chambered  cities  melt  in  their  mortality."  ^ 

174.  I  shall  notice  but  two  points  in  this  singularly  beau- 
tiful passage.    The  one  is  the  exquisite  instinct  of  Sequence 

1  '  On  Christianity  as  an  Organ  of  Political  INIovement.' 

2  Ruskin,  '  Seven  Lamps  of  Architecture,'  Chap.  III. 


142        The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

in  several  of  the  phrases,  not  only  as  to  harmony,  but  as  to 
the  evolution  of  the  meaning,  especially  in  "  builds  up  her 
barren  precipices  into  the  coldness  of  the  clouds,  and  lifts 
her  shadowy  cones  of  mountain  purple  into  the  pale  arch  of 
the  sky."  The  other  is  the  injurious  effect  of  three  words 
in  the  sentence,  "for  these  and  other  glories  more  than 
these  refuse  not  to  connect  themselves  in  his  thoughts." 
Strike  out  the  words  printed  in  italics,  and  you  not  only 
improve  the  harmony,  but  free  the  sentence  from  a  disturb- 
ing use  of  what  Euskin  has  named  the  "  pathetic  fallacy." 
There  are  times  in  which  Nature  may  be  assumed  as  in 
sympathy  with  our  moods ;  and  at  such  times  the  pathetic 
fallacy  is  a  source  of  subtle  effect.  But  in  the  passage  just 
quoted  the  introduction  seems  to  me  a  mistake :  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  thought  is  disturbed  by  this  hint  of  an  active 
participation  of  Nature  in  man's  feelings ;  it  is  preserved  in 
its  integrity  by  the  omission  of  that  hint. 

175.  These  illustrations  will  suffice  to  show  how  the  law 
we  are  considering  will  command  and  forbid  the  use  of  con- 
crete expressions  and  vivid  imagery  according  to  the  pur- 
pose of  the  writer.  A  fine  taste  guided  by  Sincerity  will 
determine  that  use.  Nothing  more  than  a  general  rule  can 
be  laid  down.  Eloquence,  as  I  said  before,  cannot  spring 
from  the  simple  desire  to  be  eloquent ;  the  desire  usually 
leads  to  grandiloquence.  But  Sincerity  will  save  us.  We 
have  but  to  remember  Montesquieu's  advice:  "II  faut 
prendre  garde  aux  grandes  phrases  dans  les  humbles 
sujets;  elles  produisent  I'effet  d'une  masque  a  barbe  blanche 
sur  la  joue  d'un  enfant." 

176.  Here  another  warning  may  be  placed.  In  our  anx- 
iety, lest  we  err  on  the  side  of  grandiloquence,  we  may  per- 
haps fall  into  the  opposite  error  of  tameness.  Sincerity 
will  save  us  here  also.  Let  us  but  express  the  thought  and 
feeling  actually  in  our  minds,  then  our  very  grandiloquence 
(if  that  is  our  weakness)  will  have  a  certain  movement  and 


The  Laws  of  Style.  143 

vivacity  not  without  effect,  and  our  tameness   (if  we  are 
tame)  will  have  a  gentleness  not  without  its  charm. 

177.  Finally,  let  us  banish  from  our  critical  superstitions 
the  notion  that  chastity  of  composition,  or  simplicity  of 
Style,  is  in  any  respect  allied  to  timidity.  There  are  two 
kinds  of  timidity,  or  rather  it  has  two  different  origins, 
both  of  which  cripple  the  free  movement  of  thought.  The 
one  is  the  timidity  of  fastidiousness,  the  other  of  placid 
stupidity :  the  one  shrinks  from  originality  lest  it  should 
be  regarded  as  impertinent ;  the  other  lest,  being  new,  it 
should  be  wrong.  We  detect  the  one  in  the  sensitive  dis- 
creetness of  the  style.  We  detect  the  other  in  the  com- 
placency of  its  platitudes  and  the  stereotyped  commonness 
of  its  metaphors.  The  writer  who  is  afraid  of  originality 
feels  himself  in  deep  water  when  he  launches  into  a  com- 
monplace. For  him  who  is  timid  because  weak,  there  is 
no  advice,  except  suggesting  the  propriety  of  silence.  For 
him  who  is  timid  because  fastidious,  there  is  this  advice : 
get  rid  of  the  superstition  about  chastity,  and  recognise  the 
truth  that  a  style  may  be  simple,  even  if  it  move  amid 
abstractions,  or  employ  few  Saxon  words,  or  abound  in  con- 
crete images  and  novel  turns  of  exptression. 

iv.    The  Laiv  of  Sequence. 

178.  Much  that  might  be  included  under  this  head  would 
equally  well  find  its  place  under  that  of  Economy  or  that 
of  Climax.  Indeed  it  is  obvious  that  to  secure  perfect 
Economy  there  must  be  that  sequence  of  the  words  which 
will  present  the  least  obstacle  to  the  unfolding  of  the 
thought,  and  that  Climax  is  only  attainable  through  a  prop- 
erly graduated  sequence.  But  there  is  another  element  we 
have  to  take  into  account,  and  that  is  the  rhythmical  effect 
of  Style.  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  in  his  essay  very  clearly 
states  the   law   of   Sequence,  but  I  infer  that  he   would 


144         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

include  it  entirely  under  the  law  of  Economy ;  at  any  rate 
he  treats  of  it  solely  in  reference  to  intelligibility,  and  not 
at  all  in  its  scarcely  less  important  relation  to  harmony. 
"  We  have  a  priori  reasons,"  he  says,  "  for  believing  that  in 
every  sentence  there  is  some  one  order  of  words  more  effec- 
tive than  any  other ;  and  that  this  order  is  the  one  which 
presents  the  elements  of  the  proposition  in  the  succession 
in  which  they  may  be  most  readily  put  together.  As  in  a 
narrative,  the  events  should  be  stated  in  such  sequence  that 
the  mind  may  not  have  to  go  backwards  and  forwards  in 
order  to  rightly  connect  them ;  as  in  a  group  of  sentences, 
the  arrangement  should  be  such,  that  each  of  them  may  be 
understood  when  it  comes,  without  waiting  for  subsequent 
ones ;  so  in  every  sentence,  the  sequence  of  words  should 
be  that  which  suggests  the  constituents  of  the  thought  in 
the  order  most  convenient  for  the  building  up  that  thought." 

179.  But  Style  appeals  to  the  emotions  as  well  as  to  the 
intellect,  and  the  arrangement  of  w^ords  and  sentences  which 
will  be  the  most  economical  may  not  be  the  most  musical, 
and  the  most  musical  may  not  be  the  most  pleasurably 
effective.  Eor  Climax  and  Variety  it  may  be  necessary  to 
sacrifice  something  of  rapid  intelligibility :  hence  involu- 
tions, antitheses,  and  suspensions,  which  disturb  the  most 
orderly  arrangement,  may  yet,  in  virtue  of  their  own  subtle 
influences,  be  counted  as  improvements  on  that  arrange- 
ment. 

180.  Tested  by  the  Intellect  and  the  Feelings,  the  law  of 
Sequence  is  seen  to  be  a  curious  compound  of  the  two.  If 
we  isolate  these  elements  for  the  purposes  of  exposition, 
w^e  shall  find  that  the  principle  of  the  first  is  much  simpler 
and  more  easy  of  obedience  than  the  principle  of  the  second. 
It  may  be  thus  stated  :  — 

181.  The  constituent  elements  of  the  conception  expressed  in  the 
sentence  and  the  paragraph  should  be  arranged  in  strict  correspond- 
ence with  an  inductive  or  a  deductive  progression. 


The  Lmvs  of  Style.  145 

182.  All  exposition,  like  all  research,  is  either  inductive 
or  deductive.  It  groups  particulars  so  as  to  lead  up  to  a 
general  conception  which  embraces  them  all,  but  which 
could  not  be  fully  understood  until  they  had  been  esti- 
mated ;  or  else  it  starts  from  some  general  conception, 
already  familiar  to  the  mind,  and  as  it  moves  along,  casts 
its  light  upon  numerous  particulars,  which  are  thus  shown 
to  be  related  to  it,  but  which  without  that  light  would  have 
been  overlooked. 

183.  If  the  reader  will  meditate  on  that  brief  statement 
of  the  principle,  he  will,  I  think,  find  it  explain  many 
doubtful  points.  Let  me  merely  notice  one,  namely,  the 
dispute  as  to  whether  the  direct  or  the  indirect  style  should 
be  preferred.  Some  writers  insist,  and  others  practise  the 
precept  without  insistence,  that  the  proposition  should  be 
stated  first,  and  all  its  qualifications  as  well  as  its  evidences 
be  made  to  follow ;  others  maintain  that  the  proposition 
should  be  made  to  grow  up  step  by  step  with  all  its  evi- 
dences and  qualifications  in  their  due  order,  and  the  con- 
clusion disclose  itself  as  crowning  the  whole.  Are  not 
both  methods  right  under  different  circumstances  ?  If  my 
object  is  to  convince  you  of  a  general  truth,  or  to  impress 
you  with  a  feeling,  which  you  are  not  already  prepared  to 
accept,  it  is  obvious  that  the  most  effective  method  is  the 
inductive,  which  leads  your  mind  upon  a  culminating  wave 
of  evidence  or  emotion  to  the  very  point  I  aim  at.  But  the 
deductive  method  is  best  when  I  wish  to  direct  the  light  of 
familiar  truths  and  roused  emotions,  upon  new  particulars, 
or  upon  details  in  unsuspected  relation  to  those  truths  ;  and 
when  I  wish  the  attention  to  be  absorbed  by  these  particu- 
lars which  are  of  interest  in  themselves,  not  upon  the 
general  truths  which  are  of  no  present  interest  except  in  as 
far  as  they  light  up  these  details.  A  growing  thought 
requires  the  inductive  exposition,  an  applied  thought  the 
deductive. 


146         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

184.  This  principle,  which  is  of  very  wide  application,  is 
subject  to  two  important  qualifications  —  one  pressed  on  it 
by  the  necessities  of  Climax  and  Variety,  the  other  by  the 
feebleness  of  memory,  which  cannot  keep  a  long  hold  of 
details  unless  their  significance  is  apprehended  ;  so  that  a 
paragraph  of  suspended  meaning  should  never  be  long,  and 
when  the  necessities  of  the  case  bring  together  numerous 
particulars  in  evidence  of  the  conclusion,  they  should  be  so 
arranged  as  to  have  culminating  force :  one  clause  leading 
up  to  another,  and  throwing  its  impetus  into  it,  instead  of 
being  linked  on  to  another,  and  dragging  the  mind  down 
with  its  weight. 

185.  It  is  surprising  how  few  men  understand  that  Style 
is  a  Fine  Art ;  and  how  few  of  those  who  are  fastidious  in 
their  diction  give  much  care  to  the  arrangement  of  their 
sentences,  paragraphs,  and  chapters  —  in  a  word,  to  Compo- 
sition. The  painter  distributes  his  masses  with  a  view  to 
general  effect ;  so  does  the  musician :  writers  seldom  do  so. 
Nor  do  they  usually  arrange  the  members  of  their  sentences 
in  that  sequence  which  shall  secure  for  each  its  proper 
emphasis  and  its  determining  influence  on  the  others  — 
influence  reflected  back  and  influence  projected  forward. 
As  an  example  of  the  charm  that  lies  in  unostentatious 
antiphony,  consider  this  passage  from  Ruskin  :  —  "  Origi- 
nality in  expression  does  not  depend  on  invention  of  new 
words ;  nor  originality  in  poetry  on  invention  of  new  meas- 
ures ;  nor  in  painting  on  invention  of  new  colours  or  new 
modes  of  using  them.  The  chords  of  music,  the  harmonies 
of  colour,  the  general  principles  of  the  arrangement  of 
sculptural  masses,  have  been  determined  long  ago,  and  in 
all  xjrobability  cannot  be  added  to  any  more  than  they  can 
be  altered."  Men  write  like  this  by  instinct ;  and  I  by  no 
means  wish  to  suggest  that  writing  like  this  can  be  pro- 
duced by  rule.  What  I  suggest  is,  that  in  this,  as  in  every 
other  Fine  Art,  instinct  does  mostly  find  itself  in  accordance 


The  Laws  of  Style.  147 

with,  rule ;  and  a  knowledge  of  rules  helps  to  direct  the 
blind  gropings  of  feelings  and  to  correct  the  occasional 
mistakes  of  instinct.  If,  after  working  his  way  through 
a  long  and  involved  sentence  in  which  the  meaning  is  rough 
hewn,  the  writer  were  to  try  its  effect  upon  ear  and  intel- 
lect, he  might  see  its  defects  and  re-shape  it  into  beauty 
and  clearness.  But  in  general  men  shirk  this  labour,  partly 
because  it  is  irksome,  and  partly  because  they  have  no 
distinct  conception  of  the  rules  which  would  make  the 
labour  light. 

186.  The  law  of  Sequence,  we  have  seen,  rests  upon  the 
two  requisites  of  Clearness  and  Harmony.  Men  with  a 
delicate  sense  of  rhythm  will  instinctively  distribute  their 
phrases  in  an  order  that  falls  agreeably  on  the  ear,  without 
monotony,  and  without  an  echo  of  other  voices ;  and  men 
with  a  keen  sense  of  logical  relation  will  instinctively  ar- 
range their  sentences  in  an  order  that  best  unfolds  the  mean- 
ing. The  French  are  great  masters  of  the  law  of  Sequence, 
and,  did  space  permit,  I  could  cite  many  excellent  examples. 
One  brief  passage  from  Royer  Collard  must  suffice  :  —  "  Les 
faits  que  I'observation  laisse  epars  et  muets  la  causalite  les 
rassemble,  les  enchaine,  leur  pr^te  un  langage.  Chaque  fait 
revile  celui  qui  a  i^recede,  prophetise  celui  qui  va  suivre.'' 

187.  The  ear  is  only  a  guide  to  the  harmony  of  a  period, 
and  often  tempts  us  into  the  feebleness  of  expletives  or 
approximative  expressions  for  the  sake  of  a  cadence.  Yet, 
on  the  other  hand,  if  we  disregard  the  subtle  influences  of 
harmonious  arrangement,  our  thoughts  lose  much  of  the 
force  which  would  otherwise  result  from  their  logical  sub- 
ordination. The  easy  evolution  of  thought  in  a  melodious 
period,  quietly  taking  up  on  its  way  a  variety  of  incidental 
details,  yet  never  lingering  long  enough  over  them  to  divert 
the  attention  or  to  suspend  the  continuous  crescendo  of 
interest,  but  by  subtle  influences  of  proportion  allowing 
each  clause  of  the  sentence  its  separate  significance,  is  the 


148         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

product  of  a  natural  gift,  as  rare  as  the  gift  of  music,  or  of 
poetry.^  But  until  men  come  to  understand  that  Style  is 
an  art,  and  an  amazingly  difficult  art,  they  will  continue 
with  careless  presumption  to  tumble  out  their  sentences  as 
they  would  lilt  stones  from  a  cart,  trusting  very  much  to 
accident  or  gravitation  for  the  shapeliness  of  the  result.  I 
will  write  a  passage  which  may  serve  as  an  example  of 
what  I  mean,  although  the  defect  is  purposely  kept  within 
very  ordinar}^  limits  :  — 

188.  "To  construct  a  sentence  with  many  loosely  and 
not  obviously  dependent  clauses,  each  clause  containing  an 
important  meaning  or  a  concrete  image  the  vivacity  of 
w^hich,  like  a  boulder  in  a  shallow  stream,  disturbs  the 
equable  current  of  thought,  —  and  in  such  a  case  the  more 
beautiful  the  image  the  greater  the  obstacle,  so  that  the 
laws  of  simplicity  and  economy  are  violated  by  it,  —  while 
each  clause  really  requires  for  its  interpretation  a  propo- 
sition that  is  however  kept  suspended  till  the  close,  —  is  a 
defect." 

189.  The  weariness  produced  by  such  writing  as  this  is 
very  great,  and  yet  the  recasting  of  the  passage  is  easy. 
Thus:  — 

"  It  is  a  defect  when  a  sentence  is  constructed  with  many 
loosely  and  not  obviously  dependent  clauses,  each  of  which 
requires  for  its  interpretation  a  proposition  that  is  kept 
suspended  till  the  close;  and  this  defect  is  exaggerated 
when  each  clause  contains  an  important  meaning,  or  a  con- 
crete image  which,  like  a  boulder  in  a  shallow  stream,  dis- 
turbs the  equable  current  of  thought :  the  more  beautiful 
the  image,  the  greater  its  violation  of  the  laws  of  simplicity 
and  economy." 

190.  In  this  second  form  the  sentence  has  no  long  sus^^en- 
sion  of  the  main  idea,  no  diversions  of  the  current.     The 

iThe  sentence  is,  and  was  doubtless  intended  to  be,  an  illustration  of 
the  principle. 


The  Laius  of  Style,  149 

proposition  is  stated  and  illustrated  directly,  and  the  mind 
of  the  reader  follows  that  of  the  writer.  How  injurious  it 
is  to  keep  the  key  in  your  pocket  until  all  the  locks  in  suc- 
cession have  been  displayed  may  be  seen  in  such  a  sentence 
as  this  :  — 

"  Phantoms  of  lost  power,  sudden  intuitions,  and  shadowy 
restorations  of  forgotten  feelings,  sometimes  dim  and  per- 
plexing, sometimes  by  bright  but  furtive  glimpses,  some- 
times by  a  full  and  steady  revelation  overcharged  with  light 
—  throw  us  back  in  a  moment  upon  scenes  and  remem- 
brances that  we  have  left  full  thirty  years  behind  us."  ^ 

191.  Had  De  Quincy  liberated  our  minds  from  suspense 
by  first  presenting  the  thought  which  first  arose  in  his  own 
mind,  —  namely,  that  we  are  thrown  back  upon  scenes  and 
remembrances  by  phantoms  of  lost  power,  &c.  —  the  beauty 
of  his  language  in  its  pregnant  suggestiveness  would  have 
been  felt  at  once.  Instead  of  that,  he  makes  us  accompany 
him  in  darkness,  and  when  the  light  appears  we  have  to 
travel  backward  over  the  ground  again  to  see  what  we  have 
passed.     The  passage  continues  :  — 

"  In  solitude,  and  chiefly  in  the  solitudes  of  nature,  and, 
above  all,  amongst  the  great  and  enduring  features  of  nature, 
such  as  mountains  and  quiet  dells,  and  the  lawny  recesses 
of  forests,  and  the  silent  shores  of  lakes,  features  with 
which  (as  being  themselves  less  liable  to  change)  our  feel- 
ings have  a  more  abiding  association  —  under  these  circum- 
stances it  is,  that  such  evanescent  hauntings  of  our  past 
and  forgotten  selves  are  most  apt  to  startle  and  to  waylay 
us." 

192.  The  beauty  of  this  passage  seems  to  me  marred  by 
the  awkward  yet  necessary  interruption,  "under  these  cir- 
cumstances it  is,"  which  would  have  been  avoided  by  open- 
ing the  sentence  with  "such  evanescent  hauntings  of  our 

1  De  Quincey,  '  Literary  Reminiscences,'  Chap.  VIII. 


150         Tlie  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

forgotten  selves  are  most  apt  to  startle  us  in  solitudes,"  &c. 
Compare  the  effect  of  directness  in  the  following  :  — 

"This  was  one,  and  the  most  common  shape  of  extin- 
guished power,  from  which  Coleridge  fled  to  the  great  city. 
But  sometimes  the  same  decay  came  back  upon  his  heart  in 
the  more  poignant  shape  of  intimations,  and  vanishing 
glimpses,  recovered  for  one  moment  from  the  paradise  of 
youth,  and  from  the  fields  of  joy  and  power,  over  which  for 
him,  too  certainly,  he  felt  that  the  cloud  of  night  had  settled 
for  ever." 

193.  Obedience  to  the  law  of  Sequence  gives  strength  by 
giving  clearness  and  beauty  of  rhythm ;  it  economises  force 
and  creates  music.  A  very  trifling  disregard  of  it  will  mar 
an  effect.  See  an  example  both  of  obedience  and  trifling 
disobedience  in  the  following  passage  from  Euskin :  — 

"  People  speak  in  this  working  age,  when  they  speak  from 
their  hearts,  as  if  houses  and  lands,  and  food  and  raiment 
were  alone  useful,  and  as  if  Sight,  Thought,  and  Admiration 
Avere  all  profitless,  so  that  men  insolently  call  themselves 
Utilitarians,  who  would  turn,  if  they  had  their  way,  them- 
selves and  their  race  into  vegetables  ;  men  who  think,  as  far 
as  such  can  be  said  to  think,  that  the  meat  is  more  than  the 
life  and  the  raiment  than  the  body,  who  look  to  the  earth 
as  a  stable  and  to  its  fruit  as  fodder ;  vinedressers  and  hus- 
bandmen, who  love  the  corn  they  grind,  and  the  grapes  they 
crush,  better  than  the  gardens  of  the  angels  upon  the  slopes 
of  Eden."  1 

194.  It  is  instructive  to  contrast  the  dislocated  sentence, 
^^who  would  turn,  if  they  had  their  way,  themselves  and 
their  race,"  with  the  sentence  Avhich  succeeds  it,  "  men  who 
think,  as  far  as  such  can  be  said  to  think,  that  the  meat," 
&c.  In  the  latter  the  parenthetic  interruption  is  a  source 
of  power :  it  dams  the  current  to  increase  its  force ;  in  the 

1  *  Modern  Painters,'  II.,  Sect.  1,  Chap.  I. 


The  Laivs  of  Style.  151 

former  the  inversion  is  a  loss  of  power  :  it  is  a  dissonance 
to  the  ear  and  a  diversion  of  the  thought. 

195.  As  illustrations  of  Sequence  in  composition,  two 
passages  may  be  quoted  from  Macaulay  which  display  the 
power  of  pictorial  suggestions  when,  instead  of  diverting 
attention  from  the  main  purpose,  they  are  arranged  with 
progressive  and  culminating  effect. 

196.  "  Such  or  nearly  such  was  the  change  which  passed 
on  the  Mogul  empire  during  the  forty  years  which  followed 
the  death  of  Aurungzebe.  A  succession  of  nominal  sov- 
ereigns, sunk  in  indolence  and  debauchery,  sauntered  away 
life  in  secluded  palaces,  chewing  bang,  fondling  concubines, 
and  listening  to  buffoons.  A  succession  of  ferocious  in- 
vaders descended  through  the  western  passes,  to  prey  on 
the  defenceless  wealth  of  Hindostan.  A  Persian  conqueror 
crossed  the  Indus,  marched  through  the  gates  of  Delhi,  and 
bore  away  in  triumph  those  treasures  of  which  the  magnifi- 
cence had  astounded  Roe  and  Bernier,  the  Peacock  Throne, 
on  which  the  richest  jewels  of  Golconda  had  been  disposed 
by  the  most  skilful  hands  of  Europe,  and  the  inestimable 
Mountain  of  Light,  which,  after  many  strange  vicissitudes, 
lately  shone  in  the  bracelet  of  Runjeet  Sing,  and  is  now 
destined  to  adorn  the  hideous  idol  of  Orissa.  The  Afghan 
soon  followed  to  complete  the  work  of  devastation  which 
the  Persian  had  begun.  The  warlike  tribes  of  Rajpootana 
threw  off  the  Mussulman  yoke.  A  band  of  mercenary 
soldiers  occupied  Rohilcund.  The  Seiks  ruled  on  the  Indus. 
The  Jauts  spread  dismay  along  the  Jumnah.  The  high 
lands  which  border  on  the  western  sea-coast  of  India  poured 
forth  a  yet  more  formidable  race,  a  race  which  was  long  the 
terror  of  every  native  power,  and  which,  after  many  des- 
perate and  doubtful  struggles,  yielded  only  to  the  fortune 
and  genius  of  England.  It  was  under  the  reign  of  Aurung- 
zebe that  this  wild  clan  of  plunderers  first  descended  from 
their  mountains ;  and  soon  after  his  death,  every  corner  of 


152         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

his  wide  empire  learned  to  tremble  at  the  mighty  name  of 
the  Mahrattas.  Many  fertile  viceroyalties  were  entirely 
subdued  by  them.  Their  dominions  stretched  across  the 
peninsula  from  sea  to  sea.  Mahratta  captains  reigned  at 
Poonah,  at  Gualior,  in  Guzerat,  in  Berar,  and  in  Tanjore."  ^ 

197.  Such  prose  as  this  affects  us  like  poetry.  The 
pictures  and  suggestions  might  possibly  have  been  gathered 
together  by  any  other  historian ;  but  the  artful  succession, 
the  perfect  sequence,  could  only  have  been  found  by  a  fine 
writer.  I  pass  over  a  few  paragraphs,  and  pause  at  this 
second  example  of  a  sentence  simple  in  structure,  though 
complex  in  its  elements,  fed  but  not  overfed  with  material, 
and  almost  perfect  in  its  cadence  and  logical  connection. 
"  Scarcely  any  man,  however  sagacious,  would  have  thought 
it  possible  that  a  trading  company,  separated  from  India  by 
fifteen  thousand  miles  of  sea,  and  possessing  in  India  only 
a  few  acres  for  purposes  of  commerce,  would,  in  less  than 
a  hundred  years,  spread  its  empire  from  Cape  Comorin  to 
the  eternal  snow  of  the  Himalayas  ;  would  compel  Mahratta 
and  Mahommedan  to  forget  their  mutual  feuds  in  common 
subjection ;  would  tame  down  even  those  wild  races  which 
had  resisted  the  most  powerful  of  the  Moguls ;  and  having 
united  under  its  laws  a  hundred  millions  of  subjects,  would 
carry  its  victorious  arms  far  to  the  east  of  the  Burram- 
pooter,  and  far  to  the  west  of  the  Hydaspes,  dictate  terms 
of  peace  at  the  gates  of  Ava,  and  seat  its  vassal  on  the 
throne  of  Candahar." 

198.  Let  us  see  the  same  principle  exhibited  in  a  passage 
at  once  pictorial  and  argumentative.  "We  know  more 
certainly  every  day,"  says  Euskin,^  "  that  whatever  appears 
to  us  harmful  in  the  universe  has  some  beneficent  or  neces- 
sary operation ;  that  the  storm  which  destroys  a  harvest 
brightens  the  sunbeams  for  harvests  yet  unsown,  and  that 
the  volcano  which  buries  a  city  preserves  a  thousand  from 

1  *  Lord  Clive.'  2  «  Stones  of  Venice,'  II.,  chap.  VI. 


The  Laws  of  Style.  153 

destruction.  But  the  evil  is  not  for  the  time  less  fearful, 
because  we  have  learned  it  to  be  necessary  5  and  we  easily 
understand  the  timidity  or  the  tenderness  of  the  spirit 
which  would  withdraw  itself  from  the  presence  of  destruc- 
tion, and  create  in  its  imagination  a  world  of  which  the 
peace  should  be  unbroken,  in  which  the  sky  should  not 
darken  nor  the  sea  rage,  in  which  the  leaf  should  not 
change  nor  the  blossom  wither.  That  man  is  greater,  how- 
ever, who  contemplates  with  an  equal  mind  the  alterna- 
tions of  terror  and  of  beauty ;  who,  not  rejoicing  less 
beneath  the  sunny  sky,  can  bear  also  to  watch  the  bars  of 
twilight  narrowing  on  the  horizon ;  and,  not  less  sensible  to 
the  blessing  of  the  peace  of  nature,  can  rejoice  in  the  mag- 
nificence of  the  ordinances  by  which  that  peace  is  protected 
and  secured.  But  separated  from  both  by  an  immeasurabl-e 
distance  would  be  the  man  who  delighted  in  convulsion  and 
disease  for  their  own  sake ;  who  found  his  daily  food  in  the 
disorder  of  nature  mingled  with  the  suffering  of  humanity ; 
and  watched  joyfully  at  the  right  hand  of  the  Angel  whose 
appointed  work  is  to  destroy  as  well  as  to  accuse,  while  the 
corners  of  the  House  of  feasting  were  struck  by  the  wind 
from  the  wilderness." 

199.  I  will  now  cite  a  passage  from  Burke,  which  will 
seem  tame  after  the  pictorial  animation  of  the  passages 
from  Macaulay  and  Ruskin  ;  but  which,  because  it  is  simply 
an  exposition  of  opinions  addressed  to  the  understanding, 
will  excellently  illustrate  the  principle  I  am  enforcing.  He 
is  treating  of  the  dethronement  of  kings.  "  As  it  was  not 
made  for  common  abuses,  so  it  is  not  to  be  agitated  by 
common  minds.  The  speculative  line  of  demarcation,  where 
obedience  ought  to  end,  and  resistance  must  begin,  is  faint, 
obscure,  and  not  easily  definable.  It  is  not  a  single  act,  or 
a  single  event,  which  determines  it.  Governments  must  be 
abused  and  deranged  indeed,  before  it  can  be  thought  of ; 
and  the  prospect  of  the  future  must  be  as  bad  as  the  expe- 


154         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

rience  of  the  past.  When  things  are  in  that  lamentable 
condition,  the  nature  of  the  disease  is  to  indicate  the  remedy 
to  those  whom  nature  has  qualified  to  administer  in  extremi- 
ties this  critical,  ambiguous,  bitter  potion  to  a  distempered 
state.  Times  and  occasions,  and  provocations,  will  teach 
their  own  lessons.  The  wise  will  determine  from  the  grav- 
ity of  the  case  ;  the  irritable  from  sensibility  to  oppression  ; 
the  high-minded  from  disdain  and  indignation  at  abusive 
power  in  unworthy  hands ;  the  brave  and  bold  from  the 
love  of  honourable  danger  in  a  generous  cause :  but,  with 
or  without  right,  a  revolution  will  be  the  very  last  resource 
of  the  thinking  and  the  good."  ^ 

200.  As  a  final  example  I  will  cite  a  passage  from  M. 
Taine  :  —  "  De  la  encore  cette  insolence  contre  les  inferieurs, 
et  ce  mepris  verse  d'etage  en  ^tage  depuis  le  premier  jus- 
qu'au  dernier.  Lorsque  dans  une  societe  la  loi  consacre  les 
conditions  inegales,  personne  n'est  exempt  d'insulte ;  le 
grand  seigneur,  outrage  par  le  roi,  outrage  le  noble  qui  out- 
rage le  peuple ;  la  nature  humaine  est  humilie  a  tous  les 
Stages,  et  la  societe  n'est  plus  qu'un  commerce  d'affronts." 

201.  The  law  of  Sequence  by  no  means  prescribes  that 
we  should  invariably  state  the  proposition  before  its  quali- 
fications —  the  thought  before  its  illustrations ;  it  merely 
prescribes  that  we  should  arrange  our  phrases  in  the  order 
of  logical  dependence  and  rhythmical  cadence,  the  order 
best  suited  for  clearness  and  for  harmony.  The  nature  of 
the  thought  will  determine  the  one,  our  sense  of  euphony 
the  other. 

V.    The  Law  of  Climax. 

202.  We  need  not  pause  long  over  this ;  it  is  generally 
understood.  The  condition  of  our  sensibilities  is  such  that  to 
produce  their  effect  stimulants  must  be  progressive  in  inten- 

1  '  Reflections  on  the  Revolution  in  France,'  p.  35,  Clarendon  ed. 


The  Laws  of  Style.  155 

sity  and  varied  in  kind.  On  this  condition  rest  the  laws  of 
Climax  and  Variety.  The  phrase  or  image  which  in  one  position 
will  have  a  mild  power  of  occupying  the  thoughts,  or  stimulating 
the  emotions,  loses  this  power  if  made  to  succeed  one  of  like  kind 
but  more  agitating  influence,  and  will  gain  an  accession  of  power  if 
it  be  artfully  placed  on  the  wave  of  a  climax.     We  laugh  at 

"Then  came  Dalhousie,  that  great  God  of  War, 
Lieutenant- Colonel  to  the  Earl  of  Mar," 

because  of  the  relaxation  which  follows  the  sudden  tension 
of  the  mind ;  but  if  we  remove  the  idea  of  the  colonelcy 
from  this  position  of  anti-climax,  the  same  couplet  becomes 
energetic  ratlier  than  ludicrous  :  — 

"Lieutenant- Colonel  to  the  Earl  of  Mar, 
Then  came  Dalhousie,  that  great  God  of  War." 

I  have  selected  this  strongly  marked  case,  instead  of  several 
feeble  passages  which  might  be  chosen  from  the  first  book 
at  hand,  wherein  carelessness  allows  the  sentences  to  close 
with  the  least  important  phrases,  and  the  style  droops  under 
frequent  anti-climax.  Let  me  now  cite  a  passage  from 
Macaulay  which  vividly  illustrates  the  effect  of  Climax :  — 
203.  "  Never,  perhaps,  was  the  change  which  the  progress 
of  civilisation  has  produced  in  the  art  of  war  more  strikingly 
illustrated  than  on  that  day.  Ajax  beating  down  the  Trojan 
leader  with  a  rock  which  two  ordinary  men  could  scarcely 
lift,  Horatius  defending  the  bridge  against  an  army,  Rich- 
ard, the  Lion-hearted,  spurring  along  the  whole  Saracen  line 
without  finding  an  enemy  to  withstand  his  assault,  Robert 
Bruce  crushing  with  one  blow  the  helmet  and  head  of  Sir 
Henry  Bohun  in  sight  of  the  whole  array  of  England  and 
Scotland,  such  are  the  heroes  of  a  dark  age.  [Here  is  an 
example  of  suspended  meaning,  where  the  suspense  intensi- 
fies the  effect,  because  each  particular  is  vividly  appre- 
hended in  itself,  and  all  culminate  in  the  conclusion ;  they 


156         The  Princij^les  of  Success  in  Literature. 

do  not  complicate  the  thought,  or  puzzle  us,  they  only 
heighten  expectation.]  In  such  an  age  bodily  vigour  is  the 
most  indispensable  qualification  of  a  warrior.  At  Landen 
two  poor  sickly  beings,  who,  in  a  rude  state  of  society,  would 
have  been  regarded  as  too  puny  to  bear  any  part  in  combats, 
were  the  souls  of  two  great  armies.  In  some  heathen  coun- 
tries they  would  have  been  exposed  while  infants.  In 
Christendom  they  would,  six  hundred  years  earlier,  have 
been  sent  to  some  quiet  cloister.  But  their  lot  had  fallen 
on  a  time  when  men  had  discovered  that  the  strength  of  the 
muscles  is  far  inferior  in  value  to  the  strength  of  the  mind. 
It  is  probable  that,  among  the  hundred  and  twenty  thousand 
soldiers  who  were  marshalled  round  Neerwinden  under  all 
the  standards  of  Western  Europe,  the  two  feeblest  in  body 
were  the  hunchbacked  dwarf,  who  urged  forward  the  fiery 
onset  of  France,  and  the  asthmatic  skeleton  who  covered 
the  slow  retreat  of  England."  ^ 

204.  The  effect  of  Climax  is  very  marked  in  the  drama. 
Every  speech,  every  scene,  every  act,  should  have  its  pro- 
gressive sequence.  Nothing  can  be  more  injudicious  than 
a  trivial  phrase  following  an  energetic  phrase,  a  feeble 
thought  succeeding  a  burst  of  passion,  or  even  a  passionate 
thought  succeeding  one  more  passionate.  Yet  this  error  is 
frequently  committed. 

205.  In  the  drama  all  laws  of  Style  are  more  imperious 
than  in  fiction  or  prose  of  any  kind,  because  the  art  is  more 
intense.  But  Climax  is  demanded  in  every  species  of  com- 
position, for  it  springs  from  a  psychological  necessity.  It 
is  pressed  upon,  however,  by  the  law  of  Variety  in  a  way 
to  make  it  far  from  safe  to  be  too  rigidly  followed.  It 
easily  degenerates  into  monoton}^ 

1 '  History  of  England,'  Chap.  XX. 


The  Laws  of  Style.  157 


vi.    The  Law  of  Variety. 

206.  Some  one,  after  detailing  an  elaborate  recipe  for  a 
salad,  wound  up  the  enumeration  of  ingredients  and  quan- 
tities with  the  advice  to  "  open  the  window  and  throw  it  all 
away."  This  advice  might  be  applied  to  the  foregoing 
enumeration  of  the  laws  of  Style,  unless  these  were  sup- 
plemented by  the  important  law  of  Variety.  A  style  which 
rigidly  interpreted  the  precepts  of  economy,  simplicity, 
sequence,  and  climax,  which  rejected  all  superfluous  words 
and  redundant  ornaments,  adopted  the  easiest  and  most 
logical  arrangement,  and  closed  every  sentence  and  every 
paragraph  with  a  climax,  might  be  a  very  perfect  bit  of 
mosaic,  but  would  want  the  glow  and  movement  of  a  living 
mind.  Monotony  would  settle  on  it  like  a  paralysing  frost. 
A  series  of  sentences  in  which  every  phrase  was  a  distinct 
thought,  would  no  more  serve  as  pabulum  for  the  mind, 
than  portable  soup  freed  from  all  the  fibrous  tissues  of 
meat  and  vegetable  would  serve  as  food  for  the  body.  Ani- 
mals perish  from  hunger  in  the  presence  of  pure  albumen ; 
and  minds  would  lapse  into  idiocy  in  the  presence  of  un- 
adulterated thought.^  But  without  invoking  extreme  cases, 
let  us  simply  remember  the  psychological  fact  that  it  is  as 
easy  for  sentences  to  be  too  compact  as  for  food  to  be  too 
concentrated ;  and  that  many  a  happy  negligence,  which  to 
microscopic  criticism  may  appear  defective,  will  be  the 
means  of  giving  clearness  and  grace  to  a  style.  Of  course 
the  indolent  indulgence  in  this  laxity  robs  style  of  all  grace 
and  power.  But  monotony  in  the  structure  of  sentences, 
monotony  of  cadence,  monotony  of  climax,  monotony  any- 
where, necessarily  defeats  the  very  aim  and  end  of  style ; 
it  calls  attention  to  the  manner ;  it  blunts  the  sensibilities ; 
it  renders  excellencies  odious. 

1  Cf.  De  Quincey's  essay  on  '  Style,'  Part  I. 


158         The  Principles  of  Success  in  Literature. 

207.  "  Beauty  deprived  of  its  proper  foils  and  adjuncts 
ceases  to  be  enjoyed  as  beauty,  just  as  light  deprived  of  all 
shadow  ceases  to  be  enjoyed  as  light.  A  white  canvas  can- 
not produce  an  effect  of  sunshine ;  the  painter  must  darken 
it  in  some  places  before  he  can  make  it  look  luminous  in 
others ;  nor  can  an  uninterrupted  succession  of  beauty  pro- 
duce the  true  effect  of  beauty ;  it  must  be  foiled  by  inferi- 
ority before  its  own  power  can  be  developed.  Nature  has 
for  the  most  part  mingled  her  inferior  and  noble  elements 
as  she  mingles  sunshine  with  shade,  giving  due  use  and 
influence  to  both,  and  the  painter  who  chooses  to  remove 
the  shadow,  perishes  in  the  burning  desert  he  has  created. 
The  truly  high  and  beautiful  art  of  Angelico  is  continually 
refreshed  and  strengthened  by  his  frank  portraiture  of  the 
most  ordinary  features  of  his  brother  monks  and  of  the 
recorded  peculiarities  of  ungainly  sanctity ;  but  the  modern 
German  and  Eaphaelesque  schools  lose  all  honour  and  noble- 
ness in  barber-like  admiration  of  handsome  faces,  and  have, 
in  fact,  no  real  faith  except  in  straight  noses,  and  curled 
hair.  Paul  Veronese  opposes  the  dwarf  to  the  soldier,  and 
the  negress  to  the  queen ;  Shakspeare  places  Caliban  beside 
Miranda,  and  Autolycus  beside  Perdita;  but  the  vulgar 
idealist  withdraws  his  beauty  to  the  safety  of  the  saloon, 
and  his  innocence  to  the  seclusion  of  the  cloister ;  he  pre- 
tends that  he  does  this  in  delicacy  of  choice  and  purity  of 
sentiment,  while  in  truth  he  has  neither  courage  to  front 
the  monster,  nor  wit  enough  to  furnish  the  knave."  ^ 

208.  And  how  is  Variety  to  be  secured  ?  The  plan  is  simple, 
but  like  many  other  simple  plans,  is  not  without  difficulty.  It 
is  for  the  writer  to  obey  the  great  cardinal  principle  of  Sincerity, 
and  be  brave  enough  to  express  himself  in  his  own  way,  follow- 
ing the  moods  of  his  own  mind,  rather  than  endeavouring  to  catch 
the  accents  of  another,  or  to  adapt  himself  to  some   standard  of 

1  Ruskin,  '  Modern  Painters,'  III.,  Chap.  III. 


The  Laws  of  Style.  .         159 

taste.  No  man  really  thinks  and  feels  monotonously.  If  he  is 
monotonous  in  his  manner  of  setting  forth  his  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings, that  is  either  because  he  has  not  learned  the  art  of  writing, 
or  because  he  is  more  or  less  consciously  imitating  the  manner  of 
others.  The  subtle  play  of  thought  will  give  movement  and  life 
to  his  style  if  he  do  not  clog  it  with  critical  superstitions.  I  do 
not  say  that  it  will  give  him  grace  and  power ;  I  do  not  say  that 
relying  on  perfect  sincerity  will  make  him  a  fine  writer,  because 
sincerity  will  not  give  talent;  but  I  say  that  sincerity  will  give 
him  all  the  power  that  is  possible  to  him,  and  will  secure  him  the 
inestimable  excellence  of  Variety. 


INDEX. 


[The  figures  refer  to  the  numbered  paragraphs  of  the  text.] 


Accuracy,  115. 

Actors,  10, 

Esthetic  nature,  25, 

J^sthetic  truth,  29. 

Angelico,  74,  94, 

Aristotle,  135,  104  note. 

Arnold,  6  note,  122  note. 

Art,  3,  29  note,  35,  37,  38,  59,  61,  83, 

91,  103;  Style  in,  185,  187;   Truth 

in,  142,  144. 
Artists,  45  note,  00. 
Authenticity,  33,  34. 

Bailey,  37. 

Baldwin,  01  note. 

Beauty,  25,  28,  29;  Principle  of,  124- 

208. 
Biot,  140. 

Blake,  88  and  note. 
Boileau,  140  note. 
Bosanquet,  52  note. 
Bowles,  17  note. 
Brooke,  (J  note. 

Buff  on,  126  note,  134  note,  140. 
Bulwer-Lytton,  51  note. 
Burke,  43  note,  82-85,  199. 

Cadence,  153,  197,  201. 
Canons,  fixed,  130. 
Cervantes,  17. 
Character  drawing,  22. 
Cicero,  128,  156. 

Classics,  22 ;  Imitation  of  the,  131, 135. 
Clearness,  156,  186. 
Climax,  150,  178.  202-205. 
Compilers,  56,  123. 
Composition,  90,  145,  185. 
Conciseness,  156-158. 
Concreteness,  167-169,  175. 
7 


Consistency,  142. 

Conventionalism,  94. 

Creation,  Artistic,  60. 

Criticism,   129;    Philosophy  of,  127, 

128,  137. 
Culture,  22. 
Cuyp,  94. 

Dante,  17,  88  note. 

Deductive  sequence,  181-184. 

Denham,  162  note. 

De  Quincey,  6  note,  125, 131, 132  note, 

140  note,  170,  171,  190,  191,  192,  206 

note. 
Descartes,  140. 
Detailism,  94. 
Dewey,  61  note. 
Diction,  166. 

Difficulty  overcome,  144. 
Dowden,  6  note. 
Drama,  22,  129  and   note,  144,  154, 

164,  204,  205. 
Dramatic  genius,  122. 
Dumas,  12,  21. 

Economy,  147  note,  150, 151-158, 178. 

Effect,  97,  98. 

Eliot,  George,  75  note,  77  note. 

Eloquence,  114,  121. 

Emerson,  50,  107,  118,  122  note. 

Euphony,  201. 

Everett,  61  note. 

Experience,  33-35,  38 ;  Organized,  47, 

48,  66. 
Experiment,  62. 
Expression,  124. 

Fabriano,  142  note. 
Failure,  19. 

161 


162 


Index. 


Fancy,  120. 
"  Fine  AVriting,"  114. 
French  classics,  135. 
Freytag,  129  note. 

Galileo,  141. 

Gallon,  43  note,  45  note. 

Genius,  38,  40,  50,  88,  89,  91,  92. 

Genesis,  157,  158. 

Goethe,  7,  10,  18,  51  note,  71  note,  74 

note,  107  note,  103  note. 
Gurney,  84  note. 

Harmony,  158,  178,  186,  187. 
Hegel,  29  note,  51  note. 
Helps,  Arthur,  125. 
Heroes,  50,  51  note. 
Hobbes,  140. 
Homer,  17. 
Horace,  103. 
Hume,  140. 
Humor,  22,  122. 

Ideal.  20. 

Idealism,  93,  207. 

Images,  83-85,  92 ;  Visual,  43  note,  44, 

45  and  note,  83,  84  and  note,  85. 
Imagination,  39,  43,  44,  45  and  note, 

40,  59-75,  110-120. 
Imitation,  30,  128-137. 
Imitators,  11,  12,  30,  56,  57,  02. 
Individuality,  35,  107  and  note. 
Inductive  sequence,  181-184. 
Inference,  39,  41. 
Insight,  30,  31,  38,  39. 
Instinct,  185. 
Invention,  22,  02,  87. 
Irritability  of  authors,  23,  24. 

James,  43  note,  45  note,  56  note. 
Johnson,  21,  01  and  note,  131. 

Kant,  20, 140. 

Laplace,  21,  140. 

Latinisms,  131,  133. 

Laurie,  0  note. 

Laws  .of  Style,  140-208. 

Lewes,  22  note,  39  note,  61  note,  95 

note,  96  note,  129  note,  130  note, 

134  note. 


Literature,  1-0, 15, 31, 32, 122 ;  Classes 
of,  56 ;  Definition  of,  0  note  ;  Laws 
of,  25-29. 

Longinus,  128,  157  and  note. 

Luini,  94. 

Macaulay,  131, 133, 109, 195,  202,  203. 

Masaccio,  110. 

Maxims  in  Art,  128,  129. 

INlemory,  86,  87,  90-92,  125. 

Mieris,  94. 

Mill,  J.  S.,  85  note. 

Milton,  84,  131. 

Models,  128-131. 

Moliere,  8,  94. 

Monotony,  200. 

Montesquieu,  175. 

Morley,  J.,  0  note. 

Murilio,  74. 

Nature,  17  note;  Beauty  of,  52  and 

note;  and  Natural,  i)4. 
Newman,  (!  note. 
Newton,  48,  01,  80. 
Novel,  23,  105. 
Novelist.  144. 
Novel  writing,  22. 

Old  Masters,  The,  109  note. 
Oratory,  108  and  note. 
Originality,  22,  107,  111,  130. 

Paintings,  109,  110,  142,  145. 

Pascal,  140. 

Pater,  0  note. 

Pathetic  fallacy,  174. 

Paul  Veronese,  207. 

Perception,  39,  40. 

Permanent  elements  in  Literature,  17, 

18. 
Phidias,  94. 
Philosophers,  46. 

Philosophy,  60,  01,  63;  Style  in,  138. 
Piloty,  95. 
Plato,  135. 
Poet,  Aim  of,  64. 
Poetical  imagery,  116. 
Poetry  and  Mathematics,  01  and  note ; 

and  Science,  07,  70. 
Poets,  45,  40,  48,  52. 


Index. 


163 


Pope,  116, 
Posuett,  6  note. 
Posterity,  Writing  for,  18. 
Prose,  197. 
Public,  The,  99. 
Public  opinion,  114. 

Quintilian,  128. 

Raphael,  109,  110. 
Realism,  37,  93-95. 
Reasoning,  39,  42-44. 
Redundancy,  155-157. 
Rhythm,  153,  178,  185,  186,  193,  201. 
Royer-Collard,  186. 
Ruskin,  90,  91,  117,  120,  122  note,  137 
note,  170, 173, 174, 185,  193,  198,  207. 

Saxon  Words,  161. 

Scaliger,  20. 

Science,  41,  62,  63,  65. 

Scientist,  Style  of  the,  126. 

Scott,  74. 

Selection,  64,  74,  87-90,  124,  125,  161. 

Sentences,  Short,  156,  158. 

Sequence,  150,  174.  178-201. 

Shakspeare,  49-52,  61,  94,  207. 

Signs,  43,  44,  45. 

Simplicity,  150,  159-177. 

Sincerity,  25,  27,  29,  97-123,  133,  134, 

140,  175,  176,  208. 
Sophocles,  17. 
Spencer,  147  and  note,  178, 


Spinoza,  140. 

Style,  124-208;  is  the  man,  134. 
Success,  13,  19,  54,  112. 
Suspense,  187-192,  203. 
Swinburne,  88  note. 
Sympathy,  38, 103. 

Tacitus,  156. 

Taine,  6  note,  74  note,  200. 

Talent,  7-10,  56. 

Taste,  Public,  16,  17,  111. 

Teniers,  94. 

Tennyson,  37. 

Thackeray,  35,  131. 

Timidity,  177. 

Titian,  37,  74,  93,  110,  128. 

Treatment,  142-145. 

Turner,  90. 

Tyndall,  61  note. 

Unity,  162,  163 ;  Organic,  166. 

Value  of  Literature,  33. 

Variety,  150,  1(53,  164,  202,  205,  206- 

208. 
Verisimilitude,  143. 
Vision,  25,  27,  29,  30-96,  114-122. 

Wit,  141. 

Wordsworth,  17  note,  78-80  and  note, 
119. 

Young,  77. 


^ ^ 


Ally?i  6^  Bacon  .  .  .  Boston. 

Historical 
Essays  of  Macaulay. 

Edited  by 

Samuel  T/mrber. 

lamo,  cloth,  80  cents. 

This  selection  includes  the  essays  on  Lord  Clk'e, 
Warren  Hastings,  and  both  those  on  the  Earl  of 
Chatha?n.  The  text  in  each  case  is  given  entire.  A 
map  of  India,  giving  the  location  of  places  named 
in  the  essays,  is  included. 

The  second  essay  on  Chatham  is  prescribed  for 
admission  to  Eastern  colleges,  and  in  this  edition 
the  first  is  added  for  the  sake  of  completeness.  For 
presenting  the  essays  on  Clive  and  Hastings  no 
explanation  is  needed.  Their  subject  matter  is  of 
great  intrinsic  interest,  and  they  show  Macaulay's 
vivid  and  picturesque  style  at  its  best.  In  the 
school-room  they  are  deservedly  among  the  most 
popular  of  his  works. 

The  notes  are  intended  to  help  the  pupil  to  help 
himself.  They  do  not  attempt  to  take  the  place 
of  dictionary,  encyclopaedia,  and  such  histories  as 
are  within  the  reach  of  ordinary  students  in  acad- 
emies or  high  schools.  It  is  taken  for  granted 
that  such  books  will  be  provided,  and  that  it  is 
part  of  the  business  of  the  schools  to  train  pupils 
to  use  them.  The  laboratory  method  —  teaching 
pupils  to  handle  apparatus  —  is  as  appropriate  in 
English  as  in  science  teaching.  When  an  allusion 
is  not  easily  understood,  a  note  briefly  explains  it, 
or  at  least  indicates  where  an  explanation  may  be 
found.  In  other  cases  the  pupil  is  expected  to 
rely  on  his  own  efforts,  and  on  such  assistance  as 
his  teacher  may  think  wise  to  give. 


i^ ■■ ^ 


*- 


Allyn  6^  Bacon  .  .  .  Boston. 

Select 
Essays  of  Macaulay, 

Edited  by 
Samuel  Thurber. 

i2mo,  cloth,  70  cts. ;  boards,  50  cts. 

This  selection  comprises  the  essays  on  Milton,  Bun- 
yan,  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  and  Aladame  D'Arblay, 
thus  giving  illustrations  both  of  Macaulay's  earlier 
and  of  his  later  style.  It  aims  to  put  into  the  hands 
of  high  school  pupils  specimens  of  English  prose  that 
shall  be  eminently  interesting  to  read  and  study  in 
class,  and  which  shall  serve  as  models  of  clear  and 
vigorous  writing. 

The  subjects  of  the  essays  are  such  as  to  bring  them 
into  close  relation  with  the  study  of  general  English 
Literature. 

The  annotation  is  intended  to  serve  as  a  guide  and 
stimulus  to  research  rather  than  as  a  substitute  for 
research.  The  notes  therefore  are  few  in  number. 
Only  when  an  allusion  of  Macaulay  is  decidedly  diffi- 
cult to  verify  does  the  editor  give  the  result  of  his 
own  investigations.  In  all  other  cases  he  leads  the 
pupil  to  make  investigation  for  himself,  believing  that 
a  good  method  in  English,  as  in  other  studies,  should 
leave  as  much  free  play  as  possible  to  the  activity  of 
the  learner. 


-* 


Thurbei'''s  Macaulay. 

Hon.  W.  T.  Harris,  Commissioner  of  Education^ 
Washington^  D.C.  :  Permit  me  to  thank  you  for  the 
copy  of  the  new  book  containing  select  essays  of 
Macaulay,  together  with  notes  and  interesting  appen- 
dix, and  to  congratulate  you  on  the  good  taste  and 
the  fine  Uterary  sense  with  which  the  work  is  edited. 
The  introduction,  although  short,  contains  some  of 
the  best  things  to  aid  the  teacher  of  literature. 

W.  C.  Collar,  I/ead- Master  of  Latin  School,  E ox- 
bury,  Mass.  :  I  thank  you  for  sending  me  "  Select 
Essays  of  Macaulay."  I  am  glad  to  have  been 
tempted  to  read  over  once  more  these  most  delight- 
ful essays,  and  the  novel  mode  of  editing  has  inter- 
ested me  very  much.  The  introduction  is  excellent 
in  matter  and  in  manner,  and  the  notes  are  of  the 
right  sort.  I  hope  nobody  hereafter  will  have  the 
hardihood  to  edit  books  of  English  literature,  for 
use  as  school  text-books,  in  the  way  that  we  have 
been  accustomed  to.  I  shall  introduce  the  book  at 
once  into  my  school  for  reading  in  my  first  class. 

E.  H.  Russell,  Principal  of  the  State  Normal 
School,  Worcester,  Mass.  :  The  introduction  is  excel- 
lent, and  strikes  a  high  note  in  the  matter  of  reading 
English  classics  in  the  schools;  the  notes,  if  any- 
thing, surpass  the  introduction  in  dignity,  reserve, 
and  pedagogical  sense.  The  whole  thing  is  a  model 
of  intelligence  and  skill  in  book-making. 

Leigh  R.  Hunt,  Principal  of  High  School,  Troy, 
N.  Y. :  I  agree  with  Mr.  Thurber's  views  as  set  forth 
in  the  introduction.  Possibly  his  sound  philosophy 
will  do  as  much  good  in  its  way  as  the  essays  that 
follow  it. 


Thurber's  Addison. 

Select  Essays  of  Addison, 

With  Macaulays  Essay  on  Addisoti's 
Life  and  Writings. 

Edited  by 

Sam7iel  Thurber. 
Cloth,  80  cents.  Boards,  60  cents. 

The  purpose  of  this  selection  is  to  interest  young 
students  in  Addison  as  a  moral  teacher,  a  painter 
of  character,  a  humorist,  and  as  a  writer  of  elegant 
English.  Hence  the  editor  has  aimed  to  bring  to- 
gether such  papers  from  the  Spectator,  the  Tatler, 
the  Gttardian,  and  the  Freeholder  as  will  prove 
most  readable  to  youth  of  high-school  age,  and  at 
the  same  time  give  something  like  an  adequate  idea 
of  the  richness  of  Addison's  vein.  The  De  Coverley 
papers  are  of  course  all  included.  Papers  describing 
eighteenth-century  life  and  manners,  especially  such 
as  best  exhibit  the  writer  in  his  mood  of  playful 
satire,  have  been  drawn  upon  as  peculiarly  illus- 
trating the  Addisonian  humor.  The  tales  and  alle- 
gories, as  well  as  the  graver  moralizings,  have  due 
representation,  and  the  beautiful  hynnns  are  all  given. 

By  omission  of  the  least  essential  parts  of  the 
selected  papers  it  has  been  possible  to  print,  in  226 
pages,  seventy  choice  specimens  of  the  writings  of 
Addison,  including  sufficient  representatives  of  the 
work  of  his  co-laborers,  Steele  and  Budgell.  Pas- 
sages lacking  in  refinement  of  language  according 
to  modern  standards  have  been  carefully  omitted. 

Trusting  to  his  own  experience  as  a  teacher,  the 
editor  has  deemed  it  wise  somewhat  to  shorten  the 
essay  of  Macaulay.  This  he  has  effected  by  the  omis- 
sion of  passages  somewhat  episodic  or  discursive  in 
their  character,  in  which  the  essayist  displays  his  his- 
torical erudition,  but  in  which  he  cannot  profitably  be 
followed  by  immature  readers. 


-^ 


i^- 


Allyn  6^  Bacon 


Boston. 


Principles  of  Success 

in  Literature. 

By  George  Henry  Lewes. 

Edited,  7uith  Introductioit  and  Notes,  by  Fred  N.  Scott. 

i2mo.    Price,  50  cents. 

The  object  of  reprinting  this  admirable  little  treatise 
on  literature  is  to  make  it  available  for  classes  in 
rhetoric  and  literary  criticism.  Scarcely  any  other 
work  will  be  found  so  thoroughly  sound  in  principles 
and  at  the  same  time  so  suggestive  and  inspiring. 
Books  of  this  kind,  written  by  competent  persons, 
are  singularly  few  in  number.  Mr.  Lewes's  essay  is 
the  work  to  go  into  the  hands  of  that  hope  and  de- 
spair of  the  teacher  of  rhetoric  —  the  callow  young 
man  with  a  sneaking  ambition  for  literature,  much 
sentiment,  and  a  decided  relish  for  rhetorical  decora- 
tion. 

The  chapters  are  devoted  to  The  Causes  of  Success 
and  Failure  in  Literature;  The  Principle  of  Vision; 
Vision  in  Art;  The  Principle  of  Sincerity;  The  Prin- 
ciple of  Beauty;   and  The  Laws  of  Style. 

The  value  of  the  present  edition  is  greatly  increased 
by  the  excellent  introduction  by  Professor  Scott,  and 
by  a  full  index,  which  adds  much  to  its  convenience. 

Spencer  s  Philosophy  of  Style 

and 


IVrighfs  Essay  on  Style. 

Edited  by  F.  N.  Scott. 

l2mo.    Price,  45  cents. 


-^ 


■*:< 


Keeler's  English   Coinposition. 

Studies  in  ^^ 

E7tglish  ^^^''^'^^  ^'  ^''^'''^ 

Composition.       i2mo.    price,  so  cents. 


This  book  is  the  outgrowth  of  the  author's  expe- 
rience as  teacher  of  composition  in  the  Cleveland 
high  school  during  the  past  ten  years,  and  the  lessons 
which  it  contains  have  all  borne  the  actual  test  of  the 
class-room.  It  is  intended  to  meet  the  wants  of  those 
schools  which  have  composition  as  a  weekly  exercise 
in  their  course  of  study.  It  contains  an  orderly  suc- 
cession of  topics  adapted  to  the  age  and  development 
of  high  school  pupils,  together  with  such  lessons  in 
language  and  rhetoric  as  are  of  constant  application 
in  class  exercises. 

The  author  believes  that  too  much  attention  can- 
not be  given  to  supplying  young  writers  with  good 
models.  They  not  only  indicate  to  the  pupil  what  is 
expected  and  serve  as  an  ideal  toward  which  to  work, 
but  they  stimulate  and  encourage  the  learner  in  his 
first  efforts.  For  this  reason  numerous  examples  of 
good  writing  have  been  given,  and  many  more  have 
been  suggested. 

The  primal  idea  of  the  book  is  that  the  pupil  learns 
to  write  by  writing.  And  therefore  that  it  is  of  more 
importance  to  get  him  to  write  than  to  prevent  his 
making  mistakes  in  writing.  Consequently  the  pupil 
is  set  to  writing  at  the  very  outset,  the  idea  of  pro- 
ducing something  is  kept  constantly  uppermost,  and 
the  function  of  criticism  is  reserved  until  after  some- 
thing has  been  done  which  may  be  criticised.  The 
book  is  an  attempt  to  teach  the  art  of  composition, 
rather  than  to  present  a  manual  of  criticism,  and  it 
undertakes  to  develop  the  constructive  rather  than 
the  critical  faculties. 


-f^ 


AUyn  &>  Bacon  .  .  .  -Boston, 

A  Drill  Book  in  English. 

Compiled  by 

George  E.   Gay. 
i2mo,  Boards.  45  cents. 

This  book  is  designed  for  the  use  of  such  pupils  as 
have  previously  learned  the  substance  of  the  rules 
which  it  contains.  It  does  not  aim  to  give  all  the 
principles  of  the  language,  but  emphasizes  those  which 
are  most  frequently  violated.  It  will  be  warmly  wel- 
comed by  those  teachers  who  are  endeavoring  in  a 
practical  way  to  teach  their  pupils  the  use  of  correct 
English.  It  contains,  in  brief  form,  rules  for  spell- 
ing, punctuation,  capitalization,  and  the  more  impor- 
tant principles  of  grammar  and  rhetoric.  Abundant 
exercises  for  practice  are  given,  and  these  are  ar- 
ranged on  pages  with  wide  margin,  so  that  the  work 
of  correction  can  be  done  with  the  least  expenditure 
of  time  and  labor, 

J.  G.  Crosswell,  Principal  of  the  Brearley  School, 
New  York  City :  I  have  examined  Gay's  Drill  Book 
in  English,  and  have  ordered  it  at  once.  It  is  a  very 
valuable  addition  to  the  apparatus  of  the  teacher. 

L.  C.  Hull,  Lazvrenceville  School,  N.J.  :  It  im- 
presses me  as  an  admirable  little  manual. 

Edwin  H.  Cutler,  Classical  School,  Nejvton,  Mass.  : 
There  is  great  occasion  in  our  schools  for  a  book  of 
this  kind;  and  I  am  satisfied  from  an  examination 
of  the  work  that  it  will  prove  highly  serviceable. 

Daniel  E.  Owen,  Thornton  Acadeviy,  Saco,  Ale.  : 
It  is  the  best  thing  in  its  line  that  I  have  ever  seen. 

A.  F.  Bechdolt,  Stiperintendent  of  Schools,  Mankato, 
Minn.:  I  like  it  very  much;  its  examples  are  well 
selected,  and  there  is  an  abundance  of  them. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


lSApr'64SiH 


REC'D  LD 


i-i-  tii    /.ua  2  L  i38i 


APR    3 '64-12 


r^ 


;6^St^ 


REC'D  LD 


■aorib'b4-ioAiyi 


INTERLIBRART 


LOAN 


l»w.  ?l 


iO"'^ 


^^t^nJsM 


y.  OF 


CAUF. 


BERK. 


m 


m^ 


LD  21A-40m-ll,'63 
(E1602s]0)476B 


General  Library 

Unlveisity  of  California 

Berkeley 


J.C.B 


RKELEY  LIBRARIES 


C03S3DflSfll 


ill^HI 


't-^- 


ii^- 


